Word Study
by creme13rulee
Summary: Post-Canon , Slight AU (Transgender Yuuri) What does 'motherhood' mean? For Hiroko Katsuki, it was something that began nearly thirty years ago. For Minako, it meant attending the sports festivals of her students and late night openings of her studio for the Katsuki children. For Yuuri, it was a future societal role he stepped out of when he came out to his parents in high school.
1. Umu

生むUmu (verb) to bear a child

有無umu (noun) or refusal. 2. existence or nonexistence)

"I don't know why they backed out." Yuuri's voice would have emotion, if it hadn't been washed out by tears. The agency had stopped sending letters, and instead called with bad news instead. It didn't make it any easier. There was no letter to tear up, no paper to ball up and throw across the room. Just the anger, left to burn up in the seat of their stomachs.

"It could have been anything. Maybe they didn't like the color of your eyes." Viktor sighed. He sounded unaffected, as if they had lost a chance to a cheap bingo game and not the chance to be a family. But that was Viktor, and that was how he dealt.

"They were open to gay couples, right?" Viktor looked up from his phone, watching Yuuri chew on his fingernails.

"Of course. It's in the application, and we sent a photo." Viktor set his phone down. "From our anniversary, in the Versace suit I got you."

That seemed to settle Yuuri's anxiety slightly.

"Do we have too many dogs?" It was nearly the same list every time. Yuuri's own insecurities, then dogs. Then he would worry if they weren't rich enough, if they were too rich. Yuuri never blamed Viktor, which made it worse. The list grew longer, but the target never moved.

"We wouldn't want a child with such cold genetic s anyway." Viktor wrapped his arms around Yuuri's waist, resting his cheek against his back. Yuuri was already in pajamas, but the way he was curled up on the bar stool told Viktor that he was far from relaxing.

"I'd take any genetics," Yuuri murmured softly, staring at the call record on his phone. It had been an hour.

"Third time is a charm." Viktor hummed into Yuuri's skin.

"Fifth."

"Yuuri, let's go to bed and watch a movie." Viktor rubbed his face into Yuuri's back and squeezed tightly.

"English, this time." Yuuri didn't have the energy to protest. He slid down to his feet and quietly padded toward the bedroom. He reached out to scratch Makkachin's head as it bobbed up to meet his hand, the loyal poodle following Yuuri to bed. Viktor watched, before deciding the best course of action would be to grab the pint of ice cream from the freezer before joining Yuuri in their Super King Bed.

Although he was wrapped up in the sheets by the time Viktor joined, Yuuri shifted to his favorite spot—tucked into Viktor, ice cream within reach. Viktor picked the newest American action flick off of Netflix—It really didn't matter what was on. After all, Viktor would be watching Yuuri take spoonfuls of ice cream between his own bites. He would watch the nervous tics fade and tense muscles melt into him, before Yuuri fell asleep, as always, five minutes before the main villain showed up. It was never about the movie—if it was good, then they wouldn't be watching it tangled up in bed.

However, sleep never reached Viktor as easily as it did Yuuri. The plot lost on Viktor, he turned back to his phone.

Yuuri's was still out on the counter. For some reason, they always called him with the news.

Viktor made a reminder to change the phone number with the agency.

Instagram was more of the same—summer bods, Yurio in some animal print or spiked outfit that Viktor wouldn't get caught dead in. Nothing new compared to the day before, except that today, it was five.

Five matches. No children.

No matter how much he played it off, it was Viktor who had brought up adoption in the first place. It was his fault that Yuuri took longer and longer to cheer up. Yuuri had been happy to train with Viktor until retirement, and teach after retiring with three golds under his belt. It was Viktor who watched the Katsuki family over New Years, who drank in the sight of the Nishigori triplets showing off their latest choreography on the ice. Viktor wanted to be the family for a child who lost theirs, just like Yakov had done for him.

Except, it wasn't working out that way. Yuuri had followed Viktor, moved to the same page together with him, not knowing that it was ink-stained and ruined.

Five matches. No kids.

They had worked so long, so hard for the house visits. The second bedroom was always empty, always ready.

It was getting too dark. Yuuri was snoring softly, curled against him, but that only lended so much comfort. Viktor pulled open Facebook. No one he knew used it, except for Yuuri, Phichit and a few odd American skaters. But it was the easiest place to follow for celebrity gossip and top ten lists to fill in time between flights between St. Petersburg and Hasetsu. A guilty pleasure.

He scrolled down the feed—Top ten group selfie poses—a few pictures of a toy poodle from the Poodle Owners group Viktor had joined years ago.

Viktor let the page scroll, the code slowing down until it stopped on the latest Buzzfeed article.

"Transgender man gives birth to healthy baby."

Huh.

Viktor looked under the tiny screen in his hand to his husband sleeping snuggled into his chest.

It wasn't something he thought about often. It had been years since it had come up, and Yuuri was Yuuri. Viktor took antidepressants, Yuuri took testosterone. It was life. Viktor wouldn't have it any other way.

Viktor bit his bottom lip, tapping the link. It led to a blog, with a long column of pictures that set an odd mixture of jealousy and curiosity eating at his stomach.

They had a family.

The article was positive.

They had a family, and were happy.

It was possible.

Viktor followed the trail, from blog to article, to other articles. There were at least seven families featured in news article. The oldest was in 1999, the report tucked away in an American newspaper archive that looked like it hadn't been updated in years.

By the time he reached an internet dead end, it was the early hours of the morning. Mochi, Makkachin's little brother, had come into the room unnoticed and joined them on the bed. Yuuri had curled around the poodle, his glasses skewed uncomfortably on his face.

Viktor stared, drinking in what he could see in the filtered light that came through the window. Yuuri was beautiful. Even drooling, spooning a poodle next to a sticky ice cream container. Every glance he took at Yuuri reminded him of their first year together- their first dance. He still could remember in stark detail the difference between Christmas BY (Before Yuuri) and AF (After Yuuri). Even if the details faded, he would never forget the warmth of life and love that settled in his ribs when he thought of it.

How long had it been since he'd seen Yuuri smile? A day, if he counted watching part of Yuuri's lesson with the 5-7 year olds. Privately? Genuinely? It had been a while.

Rejection stung. They had consulted several agencies, worked with a counselor. They had read every blog out there—scrubbed behind and under the toilet, moved further from the rink to get more square footage. They had a perfect answer for every question from the birth mother. They looked all over Russia, in Japan. They even considered trying an agency in Detroit. For some reason, it wasn't working out.

Which is perhaps, why the article stuck in the back of Viktor's mind. Why it nagged at him.

What if they could prove them wrong?

What if the only thing in their way was their experience? Imagine, raising the perfect child, and the agencies seeing the light. Their family would grow, and Viktor could share the love that Yakov had given to him.

It wouldn't be easy.

Viktor had been there when the anxiety got the best of Yuuri. He had watched as the dysphoria ate away what confidence Yuuri had. He had been there for the good days and the bad, just as he promised on his wedding day.

Viktor knew Yuuri worried— how he fretted over the cost of hormones and adoption agencies. He remembered the meltdown in Hasetsu, when Viktor brought up surrogacy. It was a blessing that Yuutopia had been relatively empty, so no one understood their fight over the costs and legalities. After the bitterness had burned away, Viktor went back to Yuuri, and silently sat with him on the back porch.

This is what kept Viktor from acknowledging the idea floating at the edge of his thoughts for weeks.

The day they received another packet from the agency, was the day Viktor decided to face it.

It was another family letter, another mother from somewhere in the country who maybe- _maybe_ would consider them to take a child. Or maybe their file finally made it to an orphanage. Who knew? Viktor found it unopened on the counter, under a bill postmarked several days before.

"Yuuri, look!" Viktor had cooed, holding up the letter. Yuuri looked up, and Viktor instantly could tell that he had seen it.

"You can open it." Yuuri had said softly, not moving from the couch, going back to scheduling the next roster of classes.

"Yuuri, we always do it together…" Viktor dropped the letter back onto the counter. "Are you giving up?"

Yuuri was silent, staring at his computer screen.

"I'm just listening to the message the universe is sending." Viktor could hear the wall behind Yuuri's words crumbling.

"But this is another chance!"

"A chance for what, to be rejected? We're out of options , Vitya. We're not supposed to be a family." Yuuri's voice wobbled, and he wiped the sleeves of his sweater against his wet eyes.

"Moya zvezda …" Viktor sighed. My star, my moon, my everything in the sky. "Maybe… we're not out of options."

Yuuri sniffled, pulling at his sleeve. "We already talked about it."

"No. Not yet." Viktor crossed the room, and sat on the space of the couch Yuuri made for him. He looked suspicious, watching Viktor carefully.

"I think we should still adopt… but maybe, there's one more thing we haven't considered."

"I don't think so." Yuuri shifted uncomfortably. "What are you thinking?" He shut the lid of the laptop, and pushed it away. Viktor fidgeted, before he pulled out the packet of papers he had printed out a week or two before, when Yuuri had taken the dogs for a walk. He set them gently in Yuuri's hands.

"I never wanted to put this on you, but it's been so long. I can tell you're not happy, Yuuri. " Viktor's voice shook now. "We are a family no matter what. But I found it by chance, and I can't get it out of my mind. I know you like being in control, and this is the one chance where you'd be completely in control. It's your body, your choice. We can burn the papers, forget I ever talked about it. I swear. I just wanted to try, to see if it will break the funk you- _we_ are in." The words poured from Viktor's mouth, and he wasn't sure they reached Yuuri. He traced the bold print of the headline with his fingers. He turned the packet over, thumbing through the multitude of papers.

Yuuri was quiet. It was agonizing, a few seconds like eternities.

"I don't want to lose you." Yuuri said softly, blinking a few tears off of his dark eyelashes. They fell onto the paper, blurring the ink of a few words.

"Are you kidding?" Fire rose in Viktor's throat—he felt sick at the thought. "We're married, Yuuri! I vowed beyond death, and I'd vow it again. I love you Yuuri! I love you when you're fat, when you're skinny, when you haven't brushed your teeth, on the ice, after the ice—"

Yuuri waved his hands, a shy half-smile like expression on his face. "But you're gay."

"Yes." Viktor said, staring blankly. "This has been a fact in the media for years."

"If I get pregnant, you won't be attracted to me anymore, " Yuuri had a morbid forced smile on his face. "Isn't it obvious?"

"Yuuri." Viktor grabbed his husbands hands, before deciding to instead take his face in his hands and tilt his chin upward. "You are my husband, the sexiest man alive."

Yuuri scoffed.

"It's true. But you are a man, and in those pages are proof. The body you were born with doesn't make you any less of a man. There's families upon families who have done it, and they're still _fathers_. Look." He thumbed open to the page he had stared at—the blog page with the toddlers and first graders, the family portrait with two fathers, surrounded in love.

"I want you to decide based on what you think—not based on what I think." Viktor took a moment to kiss Yuuri. "It's an idea, but not one we have to try."

Yuuri stared into Viktor's eyes, before he nodded, diving forward and hugging Viktor tightly.

"Vitya?"

"Mmm?" A week later, it was Viktor's turn to take care of planning out the weeks lesson. He was at the kitchen bar, with a mug of coffee, gray light streaming in from the windows. Mochi and Makkachin were still asleep, and Viktor had let Yuuri sleep in. Or so he had thought.

"Can you cover my afternoon lessons on Thursday?" Yuuri called from the bedroom. Viktor pulled up the excel sheet they used to keep the schedule—something Yuuri had taken from his business degree.

"Looks like it. Did I overschedule?" Viktor looked up as Yuuri padded into the room, still in his pajamas. It was almost past noon.

"I got an appointment to talk to Dr. Falin." Yuuri started making another cup of coffee.

"I thought you were good for another six months?"

"Well, I'm almost due for a refill, and I wanted to see about pausing the prescription for a while."

"Pausing… your hormones?" Viktor turned in his chair, facing Yuuri. He watched as Yuuri fidgeted, rearranging the mugs in the cabinet.

"Just for a while." Yuuri set a mug down, choosing one that had been toward the front anyway. "Just to see if anything happens."

"Anything… you mean…"

"Yeah. It doesn't hurt to try, does it?" Yuuri finally met his eyes, and smiled.


	2. Hazukashii

恥ずかしい hazukashii  
adjective  
1\. shy; ashamed; embarrassed

The fight between keeping the full-length mirror in the bedroom and smashing it to pieces had become real.

In the time since Yuuri had stopped testosterone, his time in front of the mirror increased tenfold. Normally Yuuri would be the one to roll out of bed ten minutes before they had to be somewhere. He'd brush his teeth, put on some decent clothing, and brush his hair if it was a good day. Viktor sometimes wondered if Yuuri even looked in the bathroom mirror at all.

But now, it was bad. Yuuri examined his jawline in the mirror. When he caught himself being reflected, he would stop, smoothing a hand over his chest and and waist, resting at his hips. He never said anything, never asked Viktor if he was different. But Viktor knew he wondered. Smashing the mirror seemed cruel, but it now felt like a beacon of anxiety. Yuuri looked no different than he had two months ago or two years ago. Yuuri had had top surgery before starting college—Yuuri's body was still Yuuri. Viktor studied it when he could—at night, in bed after dinner and a glass of wine. Maybe it had gotten softer, but it was no different than the softness that took over after too many gold-medal pork cutlet bowls. Viktor still worshipped Yuuri's thighs as they wrapped around him in their intimate moments, and adored the soft stomach when they cuddled after a long day.

This morning, however, Yuuri didn't look in the mirror.

He had come home the night before from the after-school lessons, and had fallen asleep as soon as they had eaten dinner together. Yuuri had looked like he had struggled to even make it that far. Thankfully, the next day was a holiday, and a built in rest-day for the both of them. So it didn't matter that they slept in, and Victor indulged Yuuri, laying in bed next to him, Makkachin and Mochi sandwhiched on either side of them.

"Yuuri, darling, it's almost ten," Viktor hummed, running his fingers through Yuuri's hair. It was his favorite way to wake him up—he had learned the hard way that Sleeping Beauty needed to be woken up gently. A rushed morning in their first year together had earned Viktor a foot-shaped bruise to the stomach.

Yuuri groaned, which was usual, but this time it sounded… visceral.

"I feel awful." He mumbled, curling further into himself without opening his eyes.

"Did you eat anything on the way home?" Viktor inquired, tilting his head to the side. They ate dinner together, and Yuuri had packed the lunches for the week. If Yuuri was sick, Viktor should be too.

"No." Yuuri moaned. The sheets ruffled as Yuuri shifted, changing positions three times before sighing and giving up. He kicked the sheets away. Mochi left off the bed, miffed that his spot on the bed was disturbed. Makkachin, older and wiser, stayed in place, wagging her tail at the prospect of breakfast.

"Oh, god," Yuuri's voice quivered. Viktor sat up, scanning Yuuri for any new injuries—the same old bruised ankles, a blister maybe…

Oh, god.

"Yuuri! Did I hurt you?" Viktor reached out, but Yuuri shrank away , his face flushing beet red. He blinked quickly, trying to push away tears.

"Yuuri, you should have told me, I'll call the doctor—" Viktor couldn't tear his eyes away, though he knew he was making it worse. Blood soaked the front of Yuuri's boxer-briefs, bright-red and scarlet.

"No, no, no," Yuuri's tone rose, frantic. He still wouldn't look up. Viktor touched his cheek—it was so warm.

"I'm sorry, I forgot," Yuuri's voice was small, meek. "I'll take care of it."

"Yuuri, we need to see a doctor." Viktor said firmly. Finally, he could nurse Yuuri back to health, just had he had done for him last flu season.

"No, we don't." Yuuri took a shaky breath, and pushed his hair out of his eyes. He was overdue for a haircut.

"I don't understand…" Viktor rested his hand on his lap, open, palms facing upward.

"Well, of course." Yuuri sighed "You're gay."

"So are you." Viktor pursed his lips. Yuuri faltered, his eyelashes still wet with tears.

"The testosterone wore off… it means… we can start trying for a baby now." His voice was small again. They had agreed, and it had come up—Viktor had asked if it was okay week after week. Yuuri had been determined , but his voice was always tenuous when it came up.

"Now?" Viktor grimaced, looking at the stain. Yuuri had been exhausted, and in pain. They weren't _that_ kinky.

"No… no way." Yuuri laughed nervously. "I just… I haven't dealt with this since high school, I forgot."

"Forgot what? This happened before?"

"Every month, yeah. Didn't you have sex ed in school?" Yuuri curled up again, pressing a hand to his lower stomach.

"It was a catholic school, and whatever we got, I tuned it out. It hasn't come up since then." Viktor looked thoughtful for a minute. "Mila never seemed to deal with it... should I call her?"

"No, no! Please." Yuuri waved his hands. " I just… I…" Yuuri trailed off. "Can you go to the store?" Yuuri picked up his phone from the bedside table and opened the translator app. "I'll write down what I want, and you go find the Russian kind, and I'll be happy."

"Buy what? I have bandages." Viktor said slowly. Yuuri would be frustrated, but the cluelessness was a little adorable.

"You know stores that sell condoms?"

"Only condoms?"

"Uh, no. Normal stores. Drug stores?" Viktor hummed and bobbed his head. "Usually… right next to the condoms… there's pregnancy tests, and then after that, there's all the boxes of pads and tampons"

Viktor unlocked his phone, going to write it in notes, until he saw Yuuri sketching out a list on a piece of paper. He opened the web browser, typing it in slowly

'How to help your boyfriend with tampons.'

Google : 1 million pages, with exactly 0 useful pages. Articles about boyfriends refusing to buy tampons, how it was embarrassing. Nothing useful at all.

"Here." Yuuri held out the paper over Viktor's phone, and he lifted his head. His eyes scanned over the list and the messy doodles.

"Okay… just that? Medicine? Ice cream?"

Yuuri looked queasy. "Coffee."

"We have coffee." Viktor blinked.

"A triple shot mocha."

"Triple shot?"

"Quad. You shop, I'll… clean up."

"Are you going to be okay?" Viktor cast another glance at his husband—he looked like he had been run over by a car. It hurt just thinking about leaving him alone.

Viktor went to change, and by the time he went to get his keys, Yuuri had crawled out of bed and stripped it of its sheets. Viktor stopped, backtracking into the bedroom.

"I love you, moya zvezda," He sang, sliding an arm around Yuuri's waist and pressing a kiss against his still-warm cheek. Yuuri grunted, and Viktor waited until he balled up the blankets together and turned his face up, kissing Viktor back.

"Be quick, please." Yuuri said, the warmth spreading in Viktor's chest from the singular kiss.

Yuuri had done well with the notes- scribbled in English with some messy Cyrillic letters, surrounded by question marks. Viktor had tried to teach Russian cursive to Yuuri, and it had ended in one of their biggest fights, and Yuuri yelling at him that learning to write 3 different syllabaries was easier than reading any Russian cursive. It ended in a compromise—Yuuri worked on his Cyrillic, and Viktor would add katakana to his repertoire.

However, the best notes didn't help him face the wall of identical looking products. He debated calling Yuuri—but decided against it. After staring at the notes like an exam, he grabbed his best guess. By the time he stopped by their favorite café for a mocha-to-go, and got home, Yuuri was in the kitchen, in a 'set of new pajamas, angrily banging a jar of fruit preserves against the counter.

"Tadaima, my beautiful husband!" Viktor sang, hopefully that the anger was only for the jar, and not for anything or anyone else. Yuuri looked up, his gaze fierce. It brought a wave of nostalgia - one of Yuuri's free skates where he had won gold. It had been a hard season—in more ways than one, but mostly for Viktor to wait until they made it back to the hotel room.

"I just want breakfast." Yuuri said as his greeting, trying to twist the lid off again.

"It goes the other way, love." He knew better than to reach out to help, Yuuri's mouth tightening as he looked down at the jar.

"I did that..." He muttered, twisting the lid off and throwing it onto the kitchen counter.

"Let me finish. Here are your things." Viktor handed over the paper cup and bag. Yuuri softened, wrapping his arm around the package and warm cup of coffee. He left with a kiss, disappearing back into the bedroom before coming back with just the coffee cup.

Viktor joined Yuuri back on the couch with two plates of toast slathered in berry preserves, and the reheated eggs Yuuri had left on the counter

"So.." Yuuri trailed off after a breakfast in mostly quiet.

"So?"

Yuuri pulled out his phone and pulled up an app, reading carefully off of it.

"We have the best chance for a baby on the 12th, probably like… 9 am. But the 10th and 13th work too."

"I'll clear my calendar."


	3. Aiyoku

愛欲 aiyoku

1\. passion; sexual desire; lust

"Vitya, there's not enough time—" Yuuri let Viktor pull him down the hallway, his hand tight around Yuuri's wrist. They were still in their skates—the joint lesson had run a little late. Viktor was still trying to comfort a crying child when the alarm on his phone went off.

"Nonsense." Viktor smiled, happy that the rink was empty now, for the most part at least. They slowed down, and Yuuri could feel his ankles ache as if he had just practiced jumps for eight hours.

"By the time we get home, it'll be time for Junior league lessons." Yuuri panted. "We'll just have to wait." He swallowed, nervous. Waiting another month was not ideal- neither of them had enjoyed going through PMS and the hormonal changes that showed up now that Yuuri was off his testosterone.

"Who said we would go home?" Viktor pulled out of his keys, and Yuuri finally realized where they were.

"Are you serious?! Here?" He watched Viktor pull open the door to their supply closet, and kick aside a stack of orange cones.

"Why not? All we need is each other." Viktor felt for the light switch.

"I'm not turned on at all…" Yuuri said slowly, stepping in the closet and letting Viktor lock it behind them. "I'm pretty sure I've only used these to hide and cry—" He gasped as Viktor pressed his mouth against his, his cold hands pressing at the skin of his stomach.

"Let's try, moya Yura," Viktor growled into Yuuri's ear. Yuuri's eyes widened, and his cheeks burned warm with a blush.

"O-okay." He stuttered, pressing his own hand into Viktor's chest—his heart was beating a mile a minute, too. They had talked about it before. Viktor had always met him where he was, after all. It had taken them months to figure out what worked for them as a couple, just as it had been when they had first met. Now the whole dynamic had changed.

Viktor stopped, but didn't take his hands off of Yuuri's hips.

"If you're not sure, Yuuri…"

"I'm sure, Vitya." Yuuri said darkly. "But we are in a closet, and it smells like feet, and I don't know what to do."

"Well, I'm sure it's possible, or it wouldn't happen in movies." Viktor pulled at the dollar of his jersey. "We might have to try a different position, but we already talked about that, yes?"

Yuuri sighed, his face burning. He rubbed at his cheeks, unable to keep eye contact with Viktor. "It's more than that…" He trailed off. It would be one thing if Viktor wanted him. Yuuri would gladly get on his knees, and Viktor would know just where to pull and push to get Yuuri's body on fire. He knew how to make Viktor melt, and he could do it easily. But this wasn't about having fun—it was about starting their family.

"Don't even think about the closet." He glanced at his watch, and it was enough. Yuuri pushed Viktor's hands off of him, and crossed his arms.

"We're not creating a baby in a closet at work, Viktor Nikiforov."

"-Katsuki," Viktor added on with a sheepish smile.

Yuuri felt his anger recede a bit, but still grabbed Viktor's collar regardless. He liked that.

"You… You'll make us dinner, and we'll have a bottle of wine. Then you'll let me ride you, and you'll be so turned on that you'll be out for a week."

"I'm already halfway there," Viktor purred.

"Well…" Yuuri slid his hands up Viktor's body. "I…. I can't." He didn't see the end of the sentence coming out like that, but the words fell out of his mouth before he noticed his lips and tongue making the shape of them.

"Yuuri… Is it really the closet, or is it something more?" Viktor reached up to cup his love's chin in his hand, forcing him to look up.

"Something more." Yuuri's voice was small. Embarrassed. Viktor only looked on expectantly. He waited.

"It's a lot of pressure…and… we've never done it before." Yuuri's throat felt suddenly dry. It felt stupid, to be so hung up on this, when he knew they had done way crazier things before.

"Yuuri, if you're worried about me being attracted to you, do not worry. We've dealt with this hundreds of times." He loved seeing Yuuri flush, and the blood definitely rushed to his cheeks. "Just because some people call it vanilla does not mean I am enthralled by you."

"I know that, Viktor…" The acknowledgement came out more like a whine. "Maybe it is me. I'm scared. It's not a part of me I like thinking about."

Viktor looked thoughtful, before he nodded. "We have another three days. And even so, we don't have to worry about a calendar. We can have it happen naturally."

Yuuri let out a sigh he didn't know he was holding in. He melted into Viktor's chest. "I'm sorry for turning you on."

"I've dealt with worse, moya Zvezda ," Viktor hummed, hugging Yuuri close.

"What're you doing, Vitya?" Yuuri giggled drunkenly, his fingers tangling in his hair, but doing nothing to dislodge the black silk tie Viktor had tied around Yuuri's head as a blindfold. After the talk in the supply closet, they had decided to call in a favor and have Mila and Georgi cover the classes for the next day. Viktor had picked up a bottle of wine that he wouldn't dare show Yuuri the receipt for, as well as a few rose-scented candles to set the mood for dinner.

"Trust me, kotyenok." Viktor led him back toward the bed.

"I don't know what you're saying," Yuuri giggled, letting his calves hit the box spring. "I don't speak Spanish."

"Russian, my kitten." It was a struggle to get Yuuri's t-shirt over his head without disturbing the blindfold, but Yuuri was complacent to let Viktor play with him as he wanted. Viktor paused, watching Yuuri's chest rise and fall. Even with the recent softness, Viktor could admire the muscles of Yuuri's stomach. The candle light shone off Yuuri's skin making him glow-it lit up the scars that underlined his pecs.

Even though he knew Yuuri wouldn't feel it as keenly as a kiss to his neck, Viktor bowed his head to press his lips to the skin just above Yuuri's heart, running his hands over his chest and under to the small of his back.

"Mm, Vitya, I can't see anything." Yuuri's hands moved blindly in front of him, and came dangerously close to smacking him in the face. "Where are you?"

"Right here, beautiful Yuuri," He kissed a trail down Yuuri's chest to the waistband of his jeans—the designer ones he had convinced Yuuri to buy a few months ago. Pride swelled in his chest and distracted him for a moment. Yuuri's gasps brought him back into the moment. Yuuri's fingers danced up Viktor's shoulders and into his hair. Viktor sighed happily, closing his eyes as he undid the button of Yuuri's waistband and slid his hand down to press against the fabric of his husband's boxers.

"Oh." The word floated out of Yuuri's like a bubble.

Viktor had been thinking about it over and over the past twenty-four hours. Intimacy with Yuuri had always been a balancing act between anxiety and dysphoria. It had taken them a long time, with a few bad-endings to find what worked for them. So far, in their years together, they had never tried the so called 'vanilla'—what they now would try in the interest of getting pregnant. And so far they hadn't had much luck.

Viktor was torn between Yuuri's face and watching his stomach tighten at his touch as he moved his fingers against Yuuri. He gasped in surprise—and pleasure when Yuuri hooked his legs around him. Yuuri pulled himself up onto Viktor, straddling him like he had the stripper pole at the banquet.

Even in the post-wine haze, Viktor could feel his heart start to beat faster as the nerves crept in. Yuuri dragged his hands down his body, before his mouth came up to blindly kiss and nip at his skin. Viktor melted into Yuuri, forgetting himself until Yuuri's hands moved to his waistband.

Viktor hesitated, staring down at Yuuri, bathed in candle light and completely and utterly gorgeous, biting his bottom lip. He was nervous too. Viktor pressed into Yuuri, his head swimming with alcohol and nerves. It was Yuuri- it felt like Yuuri, although this was the first time they had ever skipped protection.

"Yuuri?" Viktor went absolutely still

"Huh?" His voice was small.

"How do you feel?"

"I don't know." Yuuri's hands dropped from Viktor's body and knotted into his own inky mess of hair.

"Good?"

"I don't know."

"Bad?"

Yuuri made an unsure noise in the back of his throat.

"Do we stop?" Viktor hated himself for asking this, for not letting the buzz sweep him along. It was as if he had grown a Yuuri alert to warn him to stop him before he went to the point of no return.

"…No." Yuuri said slowly, dropping his hands onto the mattress. There was an awkward beat of silence, before Yuuri drew his legs up. "Let's switch." He breathed, reaching up to clumsily push the blindfold off.

They shifted, Yuuri taking the chance to kick off his jeans the rest of the way.

Viktor stared as Yuuri shifted, finding a comfortable position, before smiling, glowing with bed-headed glory. All the nerves washed away, replaced with warmth as they moved together.

The next morning, Viktor slept in until noon.


	4. горько

**горько adverb. bitter**

Their breath floated on the air likes clouds as they trudged back through the cold winter air to their apartment. It was getting so cold that even Makkachin and Mochi were refusing to go outside, but Yuuri had demanded a trip to the drug store down the street. It was so cold that even Viktor, a born and raised Russian, was cursing the Viktor that had told Yuuri about the 24 hour pharmacy. It was nearing midnight, but when Yuuri put his mind to something there was no use fighting it.

"Did we really need three?" Viktor asked, the paper bag crumpling in his hands. Yuuri had on three coats, a scarf and a hat, all borrowed from Viktor once they realized that Hasetsu's damp winter was no match against Russia's chill.

"They're all different." Yuuri said firmly, giving Viktor a look that shut him up.

"I know, the blue one cost three times as much as the pink box." Viktor wanted to say, but he just let out a sigh and looked skyward. "Let's get a drink?"

Yuuri turned, a sharp look on his chapped face. His nose was pink, and it brought up conflicting feelings—he loved how it made Yuuri look, but he hated that it meant that he was unwell, even on a cellular level.

"A coffee, " Viktor continued. "Decaf."

Yuuri had been so careful. No drinking, no caffeine , and he had even ordered prenatal vitamins on Amazon. He had scrubbed the label off, but he took them every morning.

He softened, and nodded, leaning into Viktor's side as they turned left instead of the right that led home.

Viktor hadn't wanted to leave the café. It was warm enough that he could intertwine his fingers with Yuuri's and feel his bare skin instead of gloves. It was warm enough to melt away some of the stress from Yuuri's shoulders. Viktor relished in watching the man wrap his fingers around a white porcelain mug, his face peaceful. Even Viktor's best cooking couldn't rival the look on Yuuri's face as he sipped the latte. The smell of the café was comforting, too. It was reminiscent of the months before, when Viktor would have the French press ready to draw Yuuri out of bed. It had been a hard habit to break, but Yuuri's determination was even harder.

It would've been better to spend another ten minutes in the café.

Another ten minutes of nervous excitement and wonder, instead of disappointment.

"It still could be early," Viktor held Yuuri, his arms wrapped around him from behind. The layers of coats were shed by the door in a heap. Yuuri was barefoot, despite the wood floors.

Yuuri didn't speak until the third negative result faded on to the screen.

"I'll order some to come next week." Viktor said, even as he felt Yuuri's chest shudder. He didn't let go even as he felt Yuuri's stomach head and shoulders rack with held back sobs. He waited until Yuuri quieted and twisted out of his arms.

Viktor stepped out of the bathroom. Yuuri had reached his limit of shared distress. Viktor moved into the kitchen, doing the only thing he knew that would distract him from the heavy sick feeling in his stomach.

By the time he had finished cooking , Yuuri had slunk into bed. Mochi had curled up into his stomach, and Makkachin took her role as big spoon. Her tail beat the mattress, wagging happily as Viktor came into the room. He slid onto the bed carefully, as to not spill the mug of tea sitting on the plate. Yuuri opened his puffy eyes as Makkachin rolled out of the way.

"Here." Viktor steadied the steaming plate.

"I'm not hungry." Yuuri said weakly, his fingers massaging Mochi's ears.

"Lilia would make me blini when I was upset. She said… a little sweetness can help take the bitterness out of life."

While Viktor reminisced, Yuuri shifted in bed, sitting up. Viktor set the plate of cinnamon crepes in his lap. He had rolled each one up carefully, but the arranged bundle of roses had been lost somewhere between the kitchen and bed.

"Its hard to imagine her saying that." Yuuri said quietly, his voice thick. He took a sip of the tea first. It was thin and milky, some remnant of taste Yuuri had gained in his college years in America.

"Now, maybe. We haven't had dinner without Yurio, have we?" Viktor felt lighter as Yuuri took a bite and chewed slowly. "Lilia was like a mother to me. She tends to become the person someone needs from her."

"What did you need from her?" Yuuri mopped up the cinnamon syrup that leaked onto the plate.

"Sometimes comfort. Mostly, she taught me control."

"If she taught you control, why do we have four jars of Nutella?" It sounded bitter, but Viktor laughed. Yuuri had indulged him at the grocery store every time, and had been next to him every time as he debated which one to use.

"Because of her, I was able to grow up in a competitive sport without losing my head." Viktor shook his head. "I may have taken it too far, but I will never regret it. It helped me meet you."

Yuuri smiled, but his eyes betrayed him. He blinked quickly, tears sliding down his cheeks.

He took in a shaky breath, his lips quivering. "What if I can't do it?"

"I told you, zvezda . If you don't want to, we won't."

"No. Not like that. What if I can't get pregnant? I've been on hormones for so long…"

"We're still registered at the agency." Viktor felt sick. This felt bigger than Yuuri's other crises. "But this is the first time we tested. It took one family a year."

Yuuri blanched.

"I can't do this for two years."

"Two?"

"Nine months for the baby. It's been three months since…" Yuuri abandoned eating, biting his nails instead.

"Then we won't." Viktor said simply, his hands in his lap. Mochi slowly inched toward the half-full plate.

"Isn't this important to you?" Yuuri bit out, his eyes streaming with fresh tears.

"Of course it is," Viktor's spine straightened. "But you are important too, Yuuri."

"Then stop acting like we can just adopt or get another dog. Like it's easy." Yuuri hiccupped.

"I know it's not." Viktor could feel the strange prickling and warmth in his eyes. "I know it's not easy. I… I just don't want to hurt my Yuuri."

"I'm not hurt." Yuuri said stubbornly through the tears.

"I can tell you are hurting."

"It's got nothing to do with you. I've dealt with it all my life. I can handle it." Yuuri bit out.

Viktor let the tears fall into his lap.

"We're married. I want a family together." He felt his mouth fold into anger—a twinge at Yuuri and himself, both at once. "I don't want to be the reason you fall apart."

"Never, Vitya," Yuuri sobbed. The tea nearly got knocked onto the mattress. Yuuri set in clumsily on the nightside table, catching Mochi before he went after it.

Viktor slid his arms around Yuuri. Makkachin nudged her way into the hug, pressing her weight into Viktor's chest.

"I think you should go to the clinic." It had been weeks, and the subject hadn't been breached since. They had stopped the timers and calendar tracking, but hadn't mentioned any doctor until now.

It was the third day Yuuri had gone without eating. The second day that Yuuri struggled to get out of bed. This time, Viktor had refused to let Yuuri drag himself to the rink for the morning session of lessons.

"It's nothing. I'll get over it." Yuuri lay in bed, the plate of crackers and cold tea still left over from the evening before. He had managed to eat some toast, and crackers and the odd cup of tea that never made it past the next morning.

"You're not improving."

Yuuri had nothing to say in return.

"I'll call Dr. Falin." Viktor retreated into the living room, calling the office and the rink to cancel the afternoon's classes.

"I don't know any virus that operates on a schedule, but I can give you a confirmed diagnosis."

"What?" Yuuri looked toward Viktor , as if this was another cultural misunderstanding.

"Your blood sample should confirm it, but there's a high probability that you are pregnant." Doctor Falin straightened the papers on Yuuri's chart.

"But… the tests were negative." Yuuri stuttered in disbelief.

"You've been testing? When was your most recent test?" The doctor readied his pen.

Viktor counted, his lips moving silently as he kept track on his fingers. "About six weeks ago?"

"Well, we may be further along than I thought. I'll send you down to Obstetrics to get an ultrasound."

"Okay," Yuuri said, stunned. Viktor took his hand as they walked down the hall to the elevator. He stopped when Yuuri did, short of the waiting room. It was full of children's toys, brightly colored pamphlets… and women.

"Are you going to be sick?" Viktor turned as Yuuri sunk back around the corner. "The bathroom—" He pointed down the hall, but he stopped when Yuuri waved his hand.

"We're in St. Petersburg," Yuuri kept his voice low.

"Yes, the other side, but we are," Viktor said slowly.

"What if we see one of our students?" Yuuri did look like he was about to be sick.

Viktor frowned, deep in thought. Yuuri fretted, until Viktor decided to go with the first thought that had crossed his mind. He pulled his Louis Vuitton sunglasses from his front pocket and slid off his coat. He took Yuuri's glasses and parted his hair on the side.

"I can't see anything." Yuuri whispered as Viktor pulled up the hood. "But I know I look suspicious."

"We will figure it out before the next appointment, I promise." Viktor hissed.

"What about you?" Yuuri hesitated as Viktor took his hand and led him back toward the waiting room.

"I am accompanying my friend to the appointment that I made for their nervous self." Viktor said flatly. Yuuri did look a little suspicious, but no one seemed to question pregnant people.

Yuuri fidgeted until it was their turn in the office. Viktor had checked in and made sure that the nurse called Nikiforov, instead of the full Nikiforov-Katsuki. He thanked at least twenty saints for his skill in acting cool, as his head swam and heart beat fast. Yuuri was pregnant?

Yuuri was pregnant.

Viktor returned his glasses to him, but Yuuri still squinted at the grainy screen. His stomach was tense—either from nerves, or the odd sensation of the gel and instrument pressed into it.

The tech said something, and Yuuri's head immediately snapped back to Yuuri.

"Eight weeks." He translated, although the meaning didn't reach him consciously.

"Eight?" Yuuri stared at the screen. "But it doesn't look—"

"It's a girl." Viktor translated, like a machine, before he felt a shock run up his spine at Yuuri's expression.

"It's a girl!" Viktor jumped up, punching the air. Yuuri sat, stunned, taking the towel the tech handed him to wipe off the remainder of the gel off his stomach.

Viktor took each result and print out with a large grin, nearly forgetting to give Yuuri his coat before they left the tiny room. Yuuri let Viktor drape his coat over his shoulders, his arms bent and hands resting on his lower stomach. He couldn't tear his eyes away, his brain working to reconcile what he had just seen, the results on the paper and the body before him.


	5. Caring

car·ing

 _adjective_

 **1**.

displaying kindness and concern for others.

 _noun_

 **1**.

the work or practice of looking after those unable to care for themselves

Viktor stretched as he slowly woke up to the world. He reached out, feeling for the warmth and solid form of his husband. Viktor could count on one hand the times Yuuri had been awake before him. They had always been on Christmas—Viktor's birthday—and always because Yuuri was making breakfast for him. Today, the kitchen was silent, and the pile of blankets were empty and cold. Makkachin and Mochi had forsaken Viktor as well. Makkachin was laying in the doorway of the master bathroom.

"Yuuri?" Viktor called out, slipping out of bed and pulling on the plush scarlet robe Yuuri had gifted him long ago.

No answer.

He stepped carefully over Makkachin, as she wagged her tail and scrambled to sit up. Viktor froze, his hand subconsciously reaching out to scratch her head. A reward for playing guard over Yuuri, who was asleep, stuck uncomfortably between the toilet and the bathtub. His cheek was pressed against the porcelain tank, his arms wrapped around Mochi. The toy poodle was the closest thing Yuuri had to a blanket, laying on his back and stretched out over the top of Yuuri's stomach. Viktor's heart swelled and broke at the same time. It was precious and terrible at once—Yuuri would be hurting from the position on top of the morning sickness that had forced him to camp in the bathroom in the first place. They weren't in their twenties anymore, after all. But seeing his family curled up like that—and even the small bump under Yuuri's sleep shirt made him want to immortalize the moment.

Instead, he scooped up Mochi, setting him down on the bathroom mat, before trying his best to extract Yuuri without hurting him. With some jostling, Viktor managed to pick Yuuri up. Before he could navigate the door, Yuuri sleepily called out his name, still as limp as a rag doll.

"Are you trying to replay gala nights, darling?" Viktor cooed, grateful that Yuuri usually took a good fifteen minutes to wake up. He sidestepped out of the bathroom and tucked Yuuri back into bed. Yuuri looked sick just at the memory. Viktor pushed Yuuri's hair out of his eyes, his hands lingering tenderly as his husbands eyes drifted closed.

"We should go to the doctor, Yuuri." Viktor said softly. They had switched teaching morning and afternoon lessons, but Yuuri was struggling to make it through even half-days.

"I'm okay, I promise." Yuuri didn't open his eyes.

"What did you eat last?" Viktor tried to bite back annoyance at the moment of silence.

"I'm getting you something to eat." Viktor stood up, pausing as the hand on his arm. His fingers were cold.

"No more crackers," Yuuri groaned, having seen their return too many times to count.

"What are you in the mood for?" Viktor looked hopeful—it had been days since Yuuri had shown any interest in food.

"Okayu.." Yuuri's hands slid off of Viktor's and back under the blankets.

"Mother?" Viktor squinted in confusion. Makkachin pressed her nose into his hand, impatient for a morning walk.

"O-ka-yu." Yuuri grumbled in a google-it-or-I'll-kill-you tone.

Viktor took his phone from the nightstand, tapping through the multiple keyboards in order to find a recipe. He found one when he reached the kitchen, pulling open the 'Japan' cabinet. It was a corner of the apartment devoted to Home. They had a cloth bag of Saga-grown rice, panko breadcrumbs, an unopened bottle of nigori sake( from Minako), and a jar of fruit preserves from an elderly neighbor who had fallen in love with Mochi.

Okayu—rice porridge—would be easy enough. A pinch of salt, more water than rice, and a long enough cooking time for Viktor to get dressed and walk the poodles.

"Thank you," Yuuri murmured when Viktor climbed into bed with a bowl of the porridge and a spoon, moving pillows so they could both sit up comfortably.

Yuuri squirmed as Viktor settled in for a cuddle. "Cold." He said around the spoon, holding his breath as a hand rested on his stomach.

It was strange. Yuuri had almost… forgotten.

Without Viktor fussing over him, it was easy to peg these feelings to a resurgence of the past. The off-season, post-Vicchan weight gain… waking up feeling perpetually hung over. It was nothing new. Yuuri didn't feel like nesting, or walking around with a hand on his stomach. He just felt…sick.

Morning sickness was supposed to fade by the time they could tell the sex of the baby, but it hadn't. Viktor had been so busy adjusting their coaching schedule that he hadn't applied for a hospital transfer. Yuuri had called in about morning sickness, but had only made it as far as the waiting room. He had just made it to the check-in counter before a student ran up, tugging her mother along. Five minutes of pleasantries ended in Yuuri scrambling for an excuse. He asked for directions for the pharmacy, although he had been there more times than he could count.

He would never step foot in that hospital again.

"Have you thought of any names?" Viktor mused, massaging the lower part of Yuuri's stomach. It was calming, as long as Yuuri didn't think too hard.

Yuuri had fantasized about making a family, but never about the names of their children. They had been open to any age, wanting a child no matter the situation. Names were simply not a part of the equation.

Viktor didn't wait for an answer.

"I was thinking about Anastasia."

"Too long."

"How is it too long?" Viktor looked a little wounded.

"A-na-su-ta-shi-a ni-ki-fo-ro-vu ka-tsu-ki. It would barely fit on a passport even without a Japanese name."

"Japanese name?"

"Well… the baby is Japanese too." Yuuri played with the remaining okayu in his bowl, moving it side to side.

"Ohh…well. Mina?" Viktor looked thoughtful.

"No." Yuuri looked embarrassed about how quickly he shot it down. "It…it isn't like that. There's the sound… and how you write it. Mari-nee-chan and I have the same kanji, and my mom took it from my dad's name. It's important."

"You… never changed your name?" Viktor's hand stopped, cupped around Yuuri's stomach. "When you transitioned?"

"I did." Yuuri blinked. "Before, it had the kanji for permanent." He traced the writing he had learned in kindergarten with a finger in the air. "When we put in the paperwork, my mom said 'courage' fit me better."

He hadn't thought about it for years, but the memory sent up a new bubble of homesickness into his consciousness.

The last summer of middle school, his mother had known. When Yuuri hadn't been able to get the practiced and scripted confession past the tears, Hiroko had listened. She hadn't acted the least bit surprised. She didn't say anything, but it didn't matter. What mattered was the next morning when Hiroko hung up a black jacket and slacks instead of a plaid skirt and bow.

Would she know now? Would she understand the secret that was locked between him and Viktor, not out of fear, but for a lack of words adequate enough to explain?

Yuuri eventually crawled out of bed, working on the next month's lesson schedule most of the day. That night was their pre-planned night with Yakov and Lilia. They would have dinner, along with Yuri, Mila and Georgi . Just like family, even post-retirement.

"Have you seen my Comme des Garçons sweater, love?" Viktor called across the apartment.

"Your what?" Yuuri called back, clueless. It still drove Viktor crazy how Yuuri could get ready in ten minutes and look flawless. His clothing choices were now more curated, and Yuuri no longer used 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner (thank god) but he still somehow managed to always be waiting for Viktor to finish. Today he decided that playing with dog paws was the activity of choice.

"The dark blue sweater, I think it was cashmere." Viktor shuffled through the hangers again. Yuuri did not need to know that the sweater cost what some people would make in a week. Yuuri just needed to know that Viktor wanted it, because it tied the blue in his accessories together.

There was the soft pap of bare feet and dog paws.

"This blue?" Yuuri's shoulders rose, tense and embarrassed. He was wearing it, over one of his cheap UNIQLO button-downs, which somehow did not tamper down any of the feelings rising in Viktor's stomach.

"You're wearing it?"

"I can take it off." Yuuri moved to pull the bottom hem up, but Viktor stopped him. He stared, relishing in how it looked on him. Blue was definitely Yuuri's color. The shoulders were too wide, of course, but it make the sleeves longer and the sweater hang on Yuuri's slight frame deliciously.

Only Yuuri could turn him on in a sweater and khakis.

" I like it better on you," Viktor purred, enough to get a blush out of Yuuri.

"Good, because we're going to be late, and I don't remember any other sweaters." Yuuri tugged the sweater down over his stomach again.

Usually each of Yakov's protégé's brought a dish, but Lilia had prepared tonight's dinner. They ate the roast together in lively chatter between bites. Yuuri ate more kinds of food than Viktor had seen in weeks. Conversation was a constant buzz.

"The Grand Prix begins in Korea in September this year."

"Sara and I will be attending. It will be nice to revisit some places."

"Yurachka will take Gold, as always."

"Will you attend? It'll be an anniversary for you, won't it?" Yuuri looked up, to the speaker. Mila, of course, would remember every big milestone they had on the ice.

"We'll be busy!" Viktor chirped, heart-shaped smile wide.

"With what?" Yuri still held on to his sullen tone throughout his career.

"Our baby girl!" Viktor's smile could light up the room as he immediately dropped his silverware to press a hand to either side of Yuuri's stomach.

The buzz dissolved into silence.

"It takes that long to finalize an adoption?" Mila tilted her head to the side.

"We're expecting! Yuuri's at 13 weeks!" Viktor sang, before he felt like all the air was sucked out of the room. No cheering. No congratulations. Something felt very wrong. "

Yuuri.

He was shrinking away from Viktor's hands. It felt like the familiar aura faded away. A sharp elbow jutted into his side.

"Are you in some freak experiment?" Yuri broke the silence. A blessing and a curse. "Or is Russia's best gay couple straight?"

That magazine cover would follow Viktor until he died.

"Neither…Yuuri was born female—"

" I had no idea the ISU allowed that." Yakov mused.

"Actually, by the time Yuuri registered with the ISU—" Viktor felt the words jam up in his throat. He couldn't explain it. He knew it, and had accepted it. It hadn't mattered, because…Yuuri.

He could feel Yuuri crumple into himself . Viktor stared, feeling the six foot walls around him in the hole he dug himself.

Yuuri stood up, folding his napkin and setting it on the table. Every movement was deliberate, as he crossed Yakov's home pulled his coat off the hanger. The door snapped shut.

"What are you doing?" Yuri growled in the stunned silence. He kicked Viktor's knee's under the table. It pushed Viktor up. He didn't remember how he got from the table to the packed snow outside. The car was empty. Yuuri was walking alone, in the dark, a forty minute drive from home and a good 10 km from any well lit roads.

"Yuuri!" Viktor called. His voice rose into panic, his voice a sodium-lamp orange cloud. He pictured Yuuri slipping into a ditch. Being hit by a car. Happiness stolen from him.

Who was he kidding? It was always gone.

Something moved in the darkness, and Viktor ran after it. Yuuri was trudging down the sidewalk. Viktor caught up, out of breath. The first time Viktor grabbed at his arm, he wrestled out of it. He trudged on, down the residential road lit only by ambient light from the few houses.

"Yuuri! Please," The second time he grabbed Yuuri, spinning him around. What little light there was glinted off wet cheeks red with cold. A low, keening cry cracked Viktor's heart in half.

Yuuri was crying. Not because he was a bad coach. Not because he missed a point on the podium, or they were watching an emotional movie.

Because it was a deep wound.

"Don't touch me." Yuuri snapped. Viktor only understood, because he had the word before—when Yuuri had begged him to only look at him. To touch him. He spoke Japanese when their shared English wasn't enough.

Or, when he was mad.

"Yuuri, please. I didn't mean to!"

"Stop." Yuuri fought, beating his hands against Viktor's chest his feet solidly planted in the ice. Viktor took each punch, focusing on the pain and bruises he could feel begin to bloom.

"Don't say my name. You can't just say whatever you want and out me in front of everyone. You can't just say it like that. Do you want to tell everybody now? Yuuri's a girl! Some freak experiment!" The words poured out in anger, before being choked off with tears.

"I would never. I was just so excited about our baby girl! Then everyone looked so confused. I just…" Viktor's heart stuttered in his chest and he could feel his throat close up. He couldn't cry. It was too cold, and Yuuri was upset enough. There was no way they would go back into the house. It had been years since he had to tamp emotions down, to put up his act. But a seasoned actor never loses his touch.

"Please let me drive you home." Viktor felt follow. He would have to call Yakov later. It would take time to find the words. Yuuri hyperventilated, but remained steadfast, walking two feet away from Viktor, back up the street to their car.

Makkachin and Mochi danced around them when they arrived home, their paws batting at their waists and knees. Yuuri ignored them, walking straight to the bathroom without taking his coat off. Viktor stared, watching the door shut and the lock click into place. The water ran as Yuuri went to wash his face. If it was after a panic attack, Viktor would be there, rubbing Yuuri's back. If it was a normal lovers quarrel, they would pout for a while before relenting. Their record was three hours, but this was unbearable.

The toilet flushed. Another rush of water. The click of the lock.

Yuuri stepped out of the bathroom shaking.

"W-w-we," The words barely escaped his lips, choked by panicked air. Normally, Viktor would wait. But his nerve were rubbed raw. Yuuri had already been upset. How did he have any energy left, even for panic? The car ride had been silent. He had calmed enough to look bitter facing the window the entire way home. Now, he was barely able to breathe, nevertheless talk.

"What?" Viktor folded his arms, as if he could protect whatever barrage of words Yuuri wanted to shoot at him this time.

"Hospital," Yuuri gasped.

Yuuri looked as small as Viktor felt.

Viktor had ended up calling an ambulance. Yuuri hadn't managed any more words before dissolving into a bigger mess. It was the only rational Viktor had left, tears blurring his vision in the dim apartment. The paramedics didn't do much, other than place Yuuri on oxygen.

At the hospital, Viktor's designer sweater fell to the floor along with the rest of Yuuri's clothes. The hospital gown was ill-fitting and swamped Yuuri, but he didn't seem to notice. He watched the instruments pressed to his stomach, pressed his face into his hands when he placed his feet in stirrups for the examination.

"Spotting can happen throughout the pregnancy. A small amount of blood is no cause for alarm." The doctor spoke to Yuuri, but he showed no sign of registering it.

"It's okay. It's normal." Viktor translated into English, and new tears sprung to Yuuri's eyes. The doctor left, leaving them along to give the nurses discharge instructions.

"I wasted your time," Yuuri whispered, his voice hoarse from the roller coaster of emotion. On any other night, they would be returning home, warmed by dessert wine and conversation.

"I'd rather spent two hours and know you're okay than wonder ," Viktor sank into the chair next to the hospital bed. "Are you still mad at me?"

Yuuri lowered his eyes. "I'm humiliated."

"I'm so sorry. I didn't think."

"I know. The baby."

"Our baby," Viktor sighed. "Who is fine. Our first overreaction as parents."

"My parents don't know." Yuuri voice was small, his arms wrapped around himself.

Viktor's eyebrows rose considerably. He was too tired to watch his emotions. "They don't?"

"We haven't told anyone, Vitya."

"I've told Chris. I figured that you did when they called last week."

"Then… I haven't told anyone."

Yuuri's voice dropped, weaker. Chris was in a category of his own to both of them. It didn't feel like a betrayal to tell their inadvertent secret to the skater who had helped them through the biggest hoop in their relationship.

"We can't keep this a secret forever, Yuuri." Viktor smoothed Yuuri's hair back. A small blessing: He didn't move away.

"I didn't want to. I don't know what to say. " Yuuri licked his dry lips. "You made it so easy… but I remembered how many friends I lost in high school because they didn't understand…You can say it doesn't make me any less of a man, but what about everyone else? My dad thought I was confused. What will he think now?" Yuuri's voice broke, but he didn't have any tears left.

"Whatever he thinks, he'll still love you." Viktor hummed, combing his fingers through Yuuri's hair.

The words, though honest, felt false. Viktor knew unconditional love was possible. Yakov had shown it throughout Viktor's career. He felt it with Yuuri. But he also knew that being a father didn't mean you accepted everything your son did. It hadn't for Mikail Nikiforov, but it would for Viktor Mikailovich Nikiforov-Katsuki.


	6. Toska

Toska

Russian. A dull ache of the soul, a sick pining, vague restlessness.

Makkachin whined again, shoving her nose into the space between the blankets and Viktor cheek. Yuuri grumbled something nonsensical, swiping blindly at the nuisance. Viktor woke, but only because he knew. He knew something was up. He had grown up with Makkachin, and Mochi had spent most of his life in the apartment. Both Yuuri and Viktor made sure they got enough exercise and knew where to go if work went late. Makka would never wake them unless something was wrong.

Mochi bounced into a play bow as the person at the door started hammering on it again. Makkachin hopped away from her spot on top of Viktor, staring expectantly at him, paws neatly folded on top of each other. The room was bright with sunlight, filtering through the blinds at a low enough angle to light up all three loves of his life. Or did it count as four? Mochi and Makkachin glowed, and Yuuri had slipped back into sleep without effort. He dozed tangled up with Viktor, the bottom of his cold feet pressed against Viktor's legs.

It was a sight to drink in, to commit to memory. One Viktor wished he couldn't leave, but whoever was at the door didn't leave. He slowly untangled himself from Yuuri, peeling Yuuri's arms away from his waist. Makkachin happily took Viktor's place as he begrudgingly tip-toed across the floor, shivering. He put on his robe, and pulled the blanket that smelled like Yuuri off the couch on his way to the door.

A bundle of jackets, topped off with a dumb-looking ear-flap hat stood at the door.

"I was about to report you dead to the police," Yuri muttered, the paper bag in his arms crinkling as he hugged it tight. Viktor could tell he was nervous, and didn't blame him. The event of the night prior trickled down into Viktor's conscious and settled with a sick feeling in his stomach.

"I was asleep," Viktor added a yawn to emphasize this point.

"It's two. In the afternoon." Yuri said it sharply, as if the blinding sun wasn't illustrating his point already.

Time seemed irrelevant. It was their day off from lessons, and even if it hadn't been, Viktor would have canceled. They had been up with the sun, Yuuri too wound up and weighed down with anxiety to sleep. Viktor had offered the idea of a bath, pulling out a paper envelope of mineral salts from Yuutopia. Yuuri had refused—it was dangerous for the baby. They compromised with a shower, with water so hot that it turned Viktor's skin red. He bore it, watching Yuuri scrub himself raw.

"Last night was rough." Viktor said flatly. Yuri didn't need to know about the post-reveal hospital trip.

"Yeah." The blond cast his eyes downward. "That's why I'm here."

Viktor stepped back, realizing that they had spent entirely too long on either side of the threshold. "Come in."

"Is Katsudon okay?" Yuri stepped inside, but kept his arms wrapped tightly around the bag.

Viktor took too long to answer.

He hoped, but he wasn't sure.

"Vitya?" A sleepy mumble and a thump came from the bedroom. Yuuri dragged himself out of the bedroom, wrapped in a burrito of blankets. He still smelled like the lotion Viktor had massaged into his skin that morning. Just the memory of the tenderness lightened the sick feeling in Viktor's stomach.

"Good afternoon, katsudon." Yuri's tone with clipped. Polite. Yuuri squinted, his glasses still resting on the bedside table. Makkachin and Mochi joined them in the main room of the apartment, wagging their tails.

Yuuri didn't say anything, a deer in the headlights. The dogs stared at the bag in Yuri's arms intently, sitting and turning on the charm.

"I brought piroshkies. The kind my grandpa made. " Another awkward silence.

"Mila talked to me last night. A lot." Viktor watched the dogs beg. He wasn't sure if he could bear watching Yuuri's reaction.

"She explained how it works… and I guess what I said what terrible. I'm sorry for calling you a freak of nature. I didn't think about it. You being pregnant didn't make any sense, you know?"

Yuuri laughed. It was short, and was on the edge of genuine and cynical.

"It doesn't?" Yuuri's voice wavered.

"Hell no. You're a guy. You have medals in Men's figure skating. Guys don't get pregnant."

"Some do." Viktor spoke up.

"Yeah, yeah. Mila beat it into my head on the ride home. I'm sorry." Yuri pushed out the paper bag of pastries toward Yuri.

"Thank you," Yuuri said softly, extricating his arms from the myriad of blankets wrapped around him. "Do you want some tea?"

"Nah. I still have to practice. " Yuri looked uncomfortable, and Viktor was grateful for it. No one in the room was prepared for company, hosting or otherwise.

"Yakov wants you at dinner." Yuri turned to Viktor, switching to Russian. It was pointless, as Yuuri was conversational in Russian at this point, but Yuri had his habits.

"I'll call him." Viktor promised, before sending Yuri home with a pocket full of Kairo hand warmers.

Yuri's gesture had made a difference, enough that Viktor did not feel terrible leaving Yuuri in the apartment alone that night. He left with a kiss and a promise to make up for the absence, the reason why he was going left unaddressed by either of them.

Viktor had only shared in Yakov's cigars twice in his life. The first time had been after his senior debut Gold. The second had been on his wedding day. It hadn't been frequent enough to quell the burning in his throat. But the warmth and the memories tied to the tobacco smoke relaxed him. He sat at the dining table with Yakov, the cigar case between them, a glass of whiskey on either side.

"Have you told your father?" Yakov finally said, after half of the cigar had been tapped into the ashtray.

"You are my father." So much for the pleasant feeling. Viktor set down the rest of his cigar, pressing it into the ceramic to extinguish it.

"He deserves to know." Yakov didn't deny it, but he wasn't going to let the topic rest.

"Why does he need to know? He won't understand it." Viktor would feel sour, if he hadn't buried the reaction to the memory years before.

Yakov was his father.

Yakov was the one who stayed through the highs and the lows. Who had listened to Viktor, and stayed after the confession. Yakov had never demanded him to cut his hair, to stop skating. Yakov had called him many things, but never a heretic. He had never worried about the time Viktor spent with other men. Yakov was the man who Viktor invited to the wedding, and who had participated.

"Mikhail would want to know about your family." Yakov said gruffly.

Viktor was grateful for the lack of command behind his coach's' words. No 'should'. No 'have to'.

"I'll send him a Christmas card." Viktor snapped. Yakov didn't so much as flinch.

"Never in my life have you done exactly what I expected," Yakov uncrossed his arms and slowly sat up. Viktor suddenly realized how old Yakov was. Old, but just as sharp, his words cutting to the bone.

"Mikhail would not understand your situation, that is true. I don't understand it myself. I don't need to understand it, Vitya. I know enough that you need to try."

"I have a thriving business, a shining career history, and I'm married to the love of my life. I don't need to try anything."

"Successful and stupid." Yakov set down his glass with enough fervor to make Viktor jump. "What I'd give for you to listen to me once before I die!"

Viktor steeled himself. Aside from the subject of blood, he had always followed Yakov's advice. The first time he had gone against Yakov's wishes had been when he had stepped onto the plane to Japan. A million gold medals didn't compare to the treasure he found there.

"Why does he need to know?"

"It's not for him to know, you stubborn boy. It's for your own good."

The words hung in the smoky air.

"You can't live life ignoring your past. " Yakov finished, folding his hands over his gut.

"Is this what Lilia thinks too?" Viktor felt sour, the congratulatory mood vanquished.

"Lilia is delighted to finally have babies to fawn over." The words caught Viktor off guard.

"She didn't seem like it." Viktor's voice was low.

"It is bad luck to announce before you can see the child is there. Lilia has always been careful."

Of course. She had her reasons.

"Yuuri is showing, he just… hides it…"

His sweater. His jackets going missing, his hundred dollar t-shirts turning into sleep shirts.

"Is he doing better? The shock is not good for the body." Yakov sounded friendlier. Yuuri had earned Yakov's heart with his work ethic since his first day in St. Petersburg.

"He…." Viktor trailed off, the simple answer to the question falling away. "It's been hard."

The night ended with a hard clap to the back. Viktor arrived at home early enough to catch Yuuri feeding bits of pizza crust to the dogs. Mochi danced, turning in a circle before catching the oily dough in his mouth. Viktor spent years treating himself to caviar and first-class meals on gold and crystal. None of them compared to the college-student diet served by Yuuri. The smell brought back memories of cheat-days and their honey moon. Of a happier Yuuri.

"Okaeri," Yuuri dropped another piece of crust to the dogs, catching their attention before they left to dance around Viktor.

"Tadaima," Viktor sang, smiling at their little tradition as he hung up his wool coat. He crawled on top of Yuuri, who was stretched out on their living room couch. He stole a kiss, melting into Yuuri's body a few seconds before Makka and Mochi made it into a dog pile.

"Do you feel better?" Yuuri scrubbed his hands with a cheap take-out napkin before resting one on the back of his neck. Viktor pressed his cheek to Yuuri's chest, focusing on the even heart beat in his ear.

"What happened?" Yuuri shifted, stretching out his legs. Mochi had settled into the mall of Viktor's back, and Makkachin had splayed out on both of their legs.

"Yakov understands. But he wants me to tell my father."

"Tell your father what?" Yuuri's heart skipped a beat.

"About his grandchild." Viktor couldn't keep the venom from his voice. "But I won't. Not until she is old enough to tell him off."

"Vitenka…" Yuuri sighed, scolding him. "Do you really want our family to be like that?"

"Yes. My daughter will understand all the different ways families are made and people are loved. She will understand and accept them."

"I mean… do you really want to pin your unborn child against your dad?" Yuuri lifted his hand off of Viktor's neck.

"He doesn't understand." Viktor said flatly. This wasn't going the way he thought it would.

"My dad didn't understand my transition."

"He didn't say you were going to hell." Viktor felt defensive.

"…not directly to my face." Yuuri's voice cracked, and Viktor felt his own heart stop. He sat up to meet Yuuri's eyes.

He had it remarkably under control.

"He had a hard time accepting it. He thought I was raised the wrong way… that something was wrong with me. He still loved me, but it wasn't easy. It took him until I left for college to see that I was happier. That I was _me_. It didn't happen overnight."

"I gave my father longer than that." Viktor hated being stubborn with Yuuri almost as much as he hated Yuuri being on Yakov's side.

"I don't want to do it anymore than you do. But you're not using my daughter as a tool." Yuuri said firmly, with a bit of fire behind his tone.

"Yuuri, you're so handsome when you're angry!" Viktor sang, sinking back to Yuuri's chest, and away from the topic at hand.


	7. Hiraeth

Hiraeth

Welsh noun

a combination of the homesickness, longing, nostalgia, and yearning, for a home that you cannot return to, no longer exists, or maybe never was.

Viktor set the crumpled paper bag on the counter after slipping his shoes off at the door. It was a habit he had grown in Japan, and it fit perfectly when they had moved back to snowy Russia. Years later, he still couldn't kick the habit. More than three steps into the house with shoes felt awful.

The living room was dark even though Viktor knew Yuuri was at home. It wasn't the first time that a night like this had happened, after all. Once the morning sickness stopped, Yuuri went back to teaching the morning lessons at the rink. He often came home exhausted. It was his favorite part of the business, one that had come on them by accident. They made an exception, teaching a mother and her son because of the lack of a babysitter. The mom had sung their praises, or so it seemed. It soon blossomed into a mommy-and-me class with complementary babysitting in the rink's café for the kids who couldn't fit into skates yet.

The mommy-and-me skate had probably planted the first seed in their mind about starting a family. They had started scheduling it like every other lesson, swapping out turns between levels and students. One morning a student called out sick, or had college finals… Viktor couldn't care to remember. He just remembers having the time to turn his eye to his Yuuri and that day's mommy-and-me class. It was always slow to start, and they met in the café. Viktor had walked into Yuuri cradling a baby, its cries slowly turning into whimpers, before the babies red cheeks relaxed into a smile. Viktor had snapped a picture, asking permission to post it on the website… but it never made it that far. It stayed as Viktor's lock screen for two weeks, until it was replaced by Mochi's adoption shot. Throughout the lesson, Viktor realized why Yuuri never complained about the back-to-back schedule. The students adored him, copying every move. Mother's loved him, and how with every fall , tears were always short-lived. Mr. Nikiforov-Katsuki would be there for every fall and bump with kind words and a smile.

"Aren't you exhausted?" Viktor had asked, after setting the picture on his phone screen, the mothers gone and the rink empty. He had spent two hours crouched down, helping Yuuri teach turning on ice. He was ready the call it a day and cancel the school age lessons.

"A little." Yuuri had shrugged, pouring another cup of tea from a thermos into Viktor's cup. "It's a lot of work, but I kind of get energy from the kids too."

But that had been a year after retirement, and before the secret pregnancy that was not treating Yuuri well so far. Since taking back the lessons, Yuuri had consistently been found napping when Viktor got home from after-school lessons. First it had been the couch, in street clothes, but as the routine wore on, he gradually lasted long enough to make it to the bed.

Viktor peeled off his coat, before picking up the paper bag again and padding across the living room. Makkachin lifted her head, before setting it back onto the curve of Yuuri's neck and shoulder. Mochi wagged his tail as Viktor pushed him aside to make room on the bed. He fluffed up the pillows—the room was dark too, which meant Yuuri had probably been asleep since early afternoon. In the middle of the careful movements, Yuuri stirred, flopping into Viktor's lap.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," Viktor hummed, brushing a hand through his hair. Yuuri groaned, burying his face into Viktor's lap and shaking his head. He then lifted his head, blinking sleepily.

"You just….at that..?" Yuuri stared wide-eyed up at him, which didn't help at all. Viktor felt his cheeks warm as he shrugged sheepishly. "It's been a while, Yuuri," His words were cut off in a hiccup at the feeling of Yuuri palming the fly of his pants.

"Yuuri, not in front of the children!" He laughed nervously, pulling out their little joke. It had taken them so long to get to the intimate part of their relationship, and Makkachin's watching eyes had ruined more than one encounter.

"You said it's been a while," Yuuri said, a sad twinge to his voice. Viktor knew it took Yuuri a good 15 minutes to wake up (on non-competition days). "When was the last time it was 'a while?'"

Viktor sighed. He hadn't meant to hit the anxious side of Yuuri. It had just…been a while. And it HAD been a while since it had been 'a while' and not 'yesterday' or 'our last rest day'.

"What?" Yuuri drew back, sitting up near Viktor's knees. He was wearing what used to be one of Viktor's tshirts, and boxers.

Soon, wearing oversized shirts wouldn't be enough to hide it.

"I think its time we go home," Viktor picked up the paper bag, pulling out the Styrofoam to-go containers out of it in order to avoid looking at the disappointment on Yuuri's face.

Yuuri was silent. Viktor wondered if Yuuri was spinning the words through translations, trying to see if it made more sense in his native language.

"Home. Where we first met and spent our first year together," Viktor pulled the lid off a container of soup and let the steam hit his face.

"Hasetsu?" Yuuri breathed, unsure, though there was nothing more obvious than that answer.

Viktor nodded, holding a spoonful of borscht to Yuuri's lips. His expression turned incredulous.

"We haven't had sex _in a while_ and you want to go to my parents house? Did you forget what happened at the love hotel?"

Viktor's smile didn't help Yuuri's mood.

"No way." Yuuri took the spoonful and snatched the spoon from Viktor's hand.

He waited a beat.

"We can't afford it."

"Tickets are cheaper in the winter, and we could bring Mochi and Makka," Viktor said matter-of-factly.

"It's more work to go for two weeks than it is to wait until the next time we close—"

"I didn't put a time limit," Viktor held up a hand.

"Viktor, we can't just leave! We have a business, it's not like we have sponsors to pay us whatever rink we go to!"

"Yuri has already agreed to help out. Mila has mornings free for Mommy and Me. We would have to cancel Winter Camp, but it's covered."

Yuuri faltered, looking lost. "Why?" He said, finally finding his words.

"We can't keep this schedule forever. It's running you into the ground. And…" Viktor leaned forward, taking Yuuri's chin in his hand. He no longer pulled away or blushed. Yuuri merely looked up into Viktor's eyes, trusting. Listening.

"We only have a few months before our lives are changed forever. Is it so awful I want you all to myself?" Viktor let his voice melt over his husband, who leaned forward, burying his face in his chest.

Victory.

Yuuri mumbled something into Viktor's chest, the man only catching bits and pieces… something like Playboy... sexiest man alive 2012… typical chunks of his past that Yuuri knew by heart, and that had only begun to slip out after Yuuri's first GPF silver. From any other mouth, the words would have Viktor tuning the fan out and rolling his eyes… but it was Yuuri, and he loved it. It made the months between the Gala and late-April, where Viktor quietly and carefully obsessed feel reciprocated.

Maybe, just maybe, if they went home… then Yuuri would thrive. Back in home soil, soaked in memories of their first year together, the wilting flower Yuuri would grow taller and stronger.

Even if that was a stupid thought, Viktor still longed for the passion and strangeness that tugged at the spider-silk edges of his consciousness, hidden in aging memories.

Anything new, or different.

Anything except coming home to an exhausted and anxious lover.

"This is the last trip we are ever going to take," Yuuri grunted, leaning over Makkachin to set Mochi's carrier into the seat beside it. They had the entire row, all four seats of the plane and all Yuuri could think of was that in a few months they would need five seats to go anywhere.

If they could even afford to, after flying all three legs in First Class.

"Then let's enjoy it! I'll get us champagne!" Viktor sang, before freezing as Yuuri turned and stared daggers at him.

"Yuuri, one glass is perfectly fine. Remember what the doctor said?"

"When was the last time we've had ONE glass?" Yuuri said pointedly. "Even when I couldn't even smell it without feeling like I was gonna die, I still had more than one."

"Okay. Red wine?" Viktor set the final carry-on in the overhead and sank back into his seat.

"One. For both of us." Yuuri double-checked the dog seatbelt hookup before crawling over Viktor to get at his seat. Just as he planned.

Yuuri pulled out his eye mask and pulled up the flu mask back over his mouth. All that was missing was the cat-eared knit hat and khaki wool coat Yuuri had worn to every competition until retirement.

"Where is the…" Yuuri trailed off as a cabin attendant strolled by.

"Snacks?" Viktor scooted closer to Yuuri, reaching down and pulling a baggie out of their day pack.

It had taken Viktor an hour to find an American import store with exactly what Yuuri had wanted. He had no idea why Yuuri wanted to eat the fluorescent orange cheese puffs, or too sweet peanut butter, but it didn't matter. It was the only thing Yuuri wanted to eat for the past three days, and it fit in a snack bag. Viktor had learned the last time he had questioned an American food choice that some things were better left unexplained. (And that Phichit was a force to be reckoned with during hazing week)

Yuuri nodded appreciatively, taking the baggie and opening it, pulling out a tiny Tupperware container. He dipped the neon orange curls into the peanut butter, munching idly.

Viktor still was not brave enough to try it.

He preferred last week's grapes-and-nutella bend.

"Would you like me to order dinner?" Viktor felt like a nap, but they were on their longest leg of their journey. Yuuri was eating like a rabbit.

"No." Yuuri stopped, looking self-conscious. "I'm… not hungry. Just…nervous."

Viktor slid his arm across the small divider between them. "It'll be okay. I promise."


	8. Buruburu

ぶるぶる buru buru

Trembling from cold, fear, or anger

Yuuri's nerves only got worse the closer they got to Hasetsu. The only reprieve was when he fell asleep for the last two hours of the flight, and the light dozing on the express train from Hakata. They rolled onto the platform of Hasetsu station in the dark, the station mostly empty. Yuuri rolled to a stop a few steps from the top of the escalators, staring up at the posters plastered against the wall of the corridor. Years ago, when he returned from Detroit, they were cleverly edited shots of Yuuri against a backdrop of cherry blossoms and Hasetsu castle.

Today, although a little faded, there was a new poster. Alongside with the promotional shoot he and Viktor had shot before retirement, was a shot from their final Olympic pair skate. Yuuri and Viktor, their arms forming a perfect circle. Their costumes, a callback to their Stammi Vicino Duet, were a little faded, the background full of sparkles and fancy script.

Viktor made a soft nostalgic noise as Yuuri reached up, lightly brushing a finger over their printed profiles.

"Tadaima," Viktor said with a soft smile. "Who are we looking for?"

"I said we'd get a taxi…tonight's the Hawks game, it'll be busy." Yuuri mumbled. Viktor sang Kuroneko Yamato's praises, thankful that they had paid for their luggage to be sent directly to their door at the airport.

"Yuuri…do they know we're coming?" Viktor said it very slowly, and carefully.

Yuuri could still hear the nerves in his voice.

"Of course!" Yuuri bit out, waving his hands. He dropped them to the side, watching Mochi as he sniffed at the base of their poster wall.

"Did you tell them?" Viktor's gaze dropped down to Yuuri's stomach. He wasn't sure if Yuuri knew it or not, but his arms moved to cover his stomach.

"No." Yuuri said weakly. "I…couldn't. There wasn't a good moment, and then we were so busy packing." The anxiety started to crawl up Yuuri's shoulders again. He fidgeted, and both Makkachin and Mochi stopped to look up at him.

"Well. No time like the present!" Viktor sing-sang, trying to ignore the spark of nerves in his own stomach. It wasn't as icy in Hasetsu as it was in St. Petersburg, but he could still imagine a repeat of his own family dinner announcement.

Viktor tried taking some of his own advice, focusing on the world outside of his head instead of the worry inside of it. He listened to the click of the automatic opening taxi door, the roughness of the white lace seat covers. He relished in hearing the smooth rhythm of Yuuri's voice in his native language. He could tell- the taxi driver knew exactly where to go, and knew enough about Yuuri to ask how skating was going. Yuuri chatted politely, his fingers digging into Mochi's fur as he sat in Yuuri's lap. (Makkachin, much to the humor of the taxi driver, took the entire front seat.)

The landmarks rushing past the window became more and more familiar, even in the dark. When Viktor tore his eyes away from drinking in his second—really, his first _true_ home, Mochi was staring at him imploringly. Yuuri's knuckles were white, tangled in Mochi's short curly fur.

Viktor was about to say something when they pulled into the gravel driveway of Yuutopia. Viktor rushed to get out and get to the luggage first, leaving Yuuri to deal with paying the fare. The garden glowed with the ambient light from Yuutopia, a happy roar coming from inside.

Home.

"Tadaima!" Viktor called, expecting Yuuri's voice to join him, as the guest bell in the entry way rang. Yuuri looked like he swallowed a frog as he set Mochi down. Makkachin pushed past them, hopping up onto the main floor and sniffing a trail, disappearing down a hallway like she owned the place.

"Ara! Vicchan!" Katsuki-mama danced down the hall, emerging from the common room with a bright smile. She stopped short of the step down into the genkan, still in her slippers, her sons still in their shoes.

Yuuri choked. Viktor, for some odd reason, heard the click of Mochi's claws on the wooden floor as he walked back, staring at his papa as tears streamed down his cheeks.

" _Yuuri, doushitan?"_ What happened, Yuuri? His mother asked, and Viktor didn't know where to start. What didn't happen? Hiroko softened with concern, her head tilting to the side as she opened up her arms.

" _Gomen, mama, iwanakatta, "_ Yuuri hiccupped, " _ninshinshichatta"_

 _I'm sorry._ Viktor knew that, despite their years-long break for training in Russia.

 _I didn't say anything._ A phrase said many times during the early part of their relationship.

Viktor didn't have to guess what ninshin meant. Hiroko's eyes went immediately to Yuuri's stomach, her hands fluttering over her heart.

What bothered Viktor was not Yuuri's incessant apologies. It was a habit he still didn't break.

It was that he remembered, from the Japanese lessons he took with a family friend, the text from his _Genki_ textbook like a photograph in his mind.

-te shimau, chau

To do completely, with attitude of finality, regret. (Viktor remembered, as he had spent a good half hour trying to figure out how to say "Oopsie, I lost my panties" without making the Google Translate mistake.)

Viktor ached as he watched Yuuri fold into himself. His mother stepped down into the genkan, cautiously reaching her arms around him, patting his back and rubbing soft circles between his shoulder blades. Viktor stood awkwardly as Mochi lost interest and followed Makkachin's trail. The conversation between Yuuri and his mother continued, but in low voices and too fast for Viktor to parse. Viktor only started to listen when Hiroko's halted NHK-English grew louder. "Vicchan, come on!" She waved gently to the family room, away from the common room. It was cold, unused and unheated, but offered privacy that the other rooms didn't. She patted Yuuri lovingly, wrapping him in a blanket before padding a short way down the hall, calling out for her husband.

Yuuri looked awful in the light. His eyes were red rimmed and puffy, with dark circles underneath them from their long day of travel. He hiccupped and shuddered, wiping his cheek on the edge of a blanket.

Viktor sank into the couch next to Yuuri, leaning into him, offering the weight of his presence as his mother-in-law returned with Mari and Toshiya in tow. Mari looked generally unimpressed—she had grown up with Yuuri's intricacies, and Toshiya's jolly and unassuming expression meant that Hiroko hadn't broken the news.

Yuuri had just stopped sobbing. He couldn't put him through that again.

" _Okaeri, Yuukun, Vicchan_." Mari sat down on the arm of a worn and overstuffed armchair, her hands on her knees.

" _Tadaima!"_ Viktor said a breathlessly and a little too loudly. " _Yuuri is pregnant!"_ He slid am arm around and rested his hand on Yuuri's stomach, just in case he somehow muddled the word he had just plucked out of earlier conversation.

Mari choked, which was the least cool move he had ever seen from her. Toshiya gaped, repeating the word for clarification. Yuuri nodded weakly, paying close attention to the weave of the tatami floor.

"We're due in June," Viktor added, taking a moment to count the months to make sure he had the right one.

" _Yuuri…did you…change your mind?"_ Toshiya said it carefully, as if he knew how much the words would hurt Yuuri.

Viktor bit back the urge to push Toshiya out of the room. They had barely been home ten minutes, and Yuuri's most vulnerable and tender spots of his soul were being attacked.

" _No! Never."_ Yuuri nearly shouted it, shrinking back into Viktor's side. " _It…. It was Viktor's idea…. We got rejected for another adoption… and I haven't had bottom surgery yet."_

" _I saw an….a website, about many couples that… like Yuuri and me, who have done it. I don't think it changes us at all."_ Viktor stumbled over the words. He felt cold. Yuuri probably felt awful, pushing blame onto him, but Viktor couldn't care less. " _I know you won't understand, but to me, this doesn't make Yuuri any less of a man to me."_

The eloquence finally reached his tongue, and Viktor said it with a tone of finality that seemed to put Yuuri at ease. Yuuri grasped at Viktor's hands, before folding his own fingers over Viktor's. Too nervous to move.

" _Well, yeah. Yuuri is Yuuri. No matter if he's fat or skinny or pregnant or wearing a flamenco suit." Mari said it so easily, trying to alleviate the tension in the room_.

It occurred to Viktor…that maybe this wasn't the first time an awkward family conversation had happened between them.

" _If you're due in June, then you've had a checkup, right? Do you know?"_ Hiroko gasped with reverence, her hands pressed together in front of her face. Viktor looked at Yuuri, who could somehow sense it, looking up at him and forcing a smile.

"A girl…we're thinking… Akari Ekaterina…" Yuuri flushed, a truer smile stretching his lips. Viktor smiled back, pressing a kiss to his cheek. They had a list two pages long at home, but after they had explained their own choices, it had been easier. Akari was written with the same kanji in Yuuri, Mari and Toshiya's names, and the baby's Russian name would be after her grandmother.

"Akari Ekaterina Katsuki Nikiforov…" Mari murmured, counting out the kana on her fingers. "That's a lot for a passport…"

"We know!" Viktor and Yuuri said in unison, earning a burst of laughter from their family.

"She'll have her Russian name on the Russian passport, and her Japanese in her Japanese passport. I did some research... it's easier that way." Viktor found himself subconsciously rubbing his hand over Yuuri's belly.

"Yuuri, moya svevdza, are you okay?" Viktor turned his head at the twitch of Yuuri's stomach. They had years of a relationship built on Viktor's Yuuri worship, and the belly had been a part of it for a long time. There was no reason for him to shrink away now, of all time.

"Did you feel that?" Yuuri sat up straighter.

"Feel you twitch? Of course, moya—"

"No. "Yuuri pushed his hand away, cutting him off. "That. I think. I think it was the baby. Or I'm going to throw up, but I think it's the baby." The words tumbled out of Yuuri's mouth, back in their shared English.

Viktor gasped his smile wide and bright as he slid off the couch to face Yuuri and press both his hands to his husband's belly. "You felt our BABY?" He sang.

" _Taidou?"_ Hiroko hummed, just as confused as her husband and daughter.

Yuuri nodded, not wanting to disappoint Viktor. He wished it would happen again—that someone else could feel it just as he just had, and tell him exactly what it was. That is was the first time, and it wasn't just nerves, or his brain, or anything else his anxiety was plagued with. He couldn't trust himself—was it really the first time? But then Rational Yuuri came in. Even if it wasn't... it was the first time he acknowledged it, and it happened with Viktor. It counted.

Yuuri switched back to his native language, explaining the revelation to his family. Hiroko cooed, doing a little dance—the quickening, right in their own home! Like a tradition!

Viktor learned that Katsuki-mama had first felt Yuuri move while she was in the kitchen. Mari had been mistaken for a shindo 3 earthquake, but had continued moving and kicking until she was born, two weeks before her due date.

"What about Yuuri?" Viktor's eyes shone—he had made this plan so he and Yuuri could be alone, but he now realized what living in your husbands childhood home entailed.

Hiroko laughed. "Three weeks late! Yuu-chan slept through the night before Mari did." Yuuri and Mari both looked embarrassed, but Hiroko glowed with happiness.

"I wonder if Akari will take after you!" Viktor gasped, turning starry-eyed toward his husband.

"Oh god, I hope not," Yuuri squirmed, patting Viktor's knee as he pressed a warm kiss to his cheek.

Yuuri knew exactly how many weeks and days lay between the present moment and the due date. It had started as a vague knowledge, until the nightmares had started. They picked up with a new fervor after the hospital visit the night of the skating family dinner. Yuuri would do his best to block the contents of the actual dream, focusing on anything else once he woke up, bathed in a cold sweat. But the techniques Yuuri had learned to combat his anxiety did not reach the sensation of being violated that stuck to his skin and made his knees weak.

The feeling would fade with a hot shower and tender attention from his husband. But the feeling of his body not belonging to him alone persisted.

Even with the practice of a lifetime with a disconnect between brain and body, it never was easier. It was easier in the way that a bad smell fades after the nerves wear out. It was background noise, with a new beat.

In short… Yuuri knew the exact day he could call the hospital and beg for a C-section.

" _You must be hungry!"_ Hiroko clapped her hands, wise enough to change the subject.

Viktor felt fine. He had nibbled at the fruit and cheese plate and the crab rigatoni on their longest leg. Yuuri, however, had fallen asleep before liftoff. The last solid meal (not counting the cheese puffs and the bottle of hot chocolate from the vending machine at Hakata station) Yuuri had eaten had been in Russia.

The family went their separate ways, Hiroko herding them to the kitchen, Mari returning to make sure the guests had enough sake. Viktor sat Yuuri down closest to the space heater, taking the spot next to him at the kitchen table. Another two chairs were nudged into the small space, a small gesture that warmed Viktor's heart. Hiroko stopped, setting a glass of Calpis in front of Viktor. It had been years, but she still remembered Viktor's first self-discovered favorite drink. Yuuri leaned over, and Viktor held the glass to his lips after taking a sip of his own. Yuuri sighed, leaning into him as Hiroko bustled in the kitchen. Viktor worked on his rusty Japanese, answering all the small-talk questions as Yuuri melted into him.

" _Really,mom?"_ Yuuri flushed, looking embarrassed but happy as Hiroko set down two steaming bowls in front of them. She giggled, waving her hand.

"Really what?" Viktor suddenly felt hungry again, watching the raw egg melt into the rice.

"Oyakodon" Yuuri wrapped his hands around the bowl, treasuring the warmth. "Parents and child...don." Yuuri clarified, his lips curled into a smile.

"Is it a tradition?" Viktor held the bowl closer to himself, about to cry. Yuuri laughed.

"I hope not. Egg and chicken," Yuuri pointed to each ingredient. Viktor blinked, before his expression turned from touched to horrified.

Hiroko giggled. "Japanese joke!" She said, before patting Viktor's cheek. He assumed she would leave, and go back to the never ending work of Yuutopia.

Instead, she sat down on the other side of the table with a cup of tea.

" _Yuu-chan,"_ She said softly, waiting until Yuuri looked up from his food. " _Don't worry about your father, okay? He doesn't understand, but he loves you."_

Viktor knew the words weren't met for him, but they struck him regardless.

 _He doesn't understand, but he loves you._


	9. Youji

_youji_

 _用事_ _Noun_

 _1\. preparation_

 _youji_

 _幼児_ _Noun_

 _1\. infant; baby; child_

"Yuuri…" Viktor wrapped his arms around his husband, whispering in his ear lovingly "I don't understand…are we eating ginger? Going to ginger?"

Yuuri laughed, his whole body shaking under Viktor's touch. " _Jinja, Viktor._ " Yuuri said tenderly.

It had been a week since they had arrived home in Hasetsu. Jet lag no longer had its claws in them, and Viktor was just starting to get the itch to explore. Yuuri had started to help care for the inn, and more often than not wore the purple apron and blue happi coat over his usual jeans and sweaters. It hurt Viktor on some level, to see the Versace and Yuuri's body hidden … but the pain quickly disappeared once Viktor noticed how much more relaxed Yuuri was.

Yuuri dried his hands after setting the last bowl in the drying rack, glancing around the room before leaning back into Viktor.

"My mom wants to go pray for safe childbirth, and get a…a sarashi… um, a wrap?" Yuuri gestured vaguely around his middle.

Viktor gasped. "Can I come? Can we take pictures?" His smile was wide, and Yuuri looked at him indignantly.

"We talked about it last night. We're going after the morning rush, so make sure your phone is charged." Yuuri said it as if he was mimicking his mother, before placing a kiss to his husbands jawline. "You have twenty minutes."

While Yuuri had just shed the apron and jacket, Hiroko emerged in a deep purple kimono, her hair brushed and cheeks painted with a bit of blush. She handed Viktor the keys to the family van, patting his hands as they balled over the mass of poodle and hello kitty keychains.

"Vicchan, drive, okay?" She said in happy English, carefully stepping over the gravel in the driveway and taking her time to pull herself into back seat. She patted her lap—Vicchan jumped into her lap, and Makkachin settled into the seat next to her. Makkachin had a silk ribbon flower barrette next to her left ear, and Mochi had a bow tie—apparently they were just as part of the ceremony as Yuuri was.

Viktor felt his stomach in his throat as he started the car, but soon felt better as Yuuri started telling him directions in Russian. He still held onto the darling mix of Japanese and American accent after years of lessons, and Viktor loved it. He parked under a pine tree under the only spot open, feeling a year of life slip away from him as he backed carefully into the tiny space.

Viktor got his phone ready as they entered the Shinto shrine. He caught Yuuri's profile against the crimson of the tori gate, his mother in the blurry background.

They were still in Hasetsu, but after lunch in the middle of a week day, the area around the shrine looked deserted.

Viktor had to act quickly. Yuuri prayed with his mother quickly, ringing the bell and clapping his hands together. Mama Katsuki pushed Viktor forward with a hearty clap to the back, and he prayed too.

They took off their shoes to step up into the shrine—in bigger cities, there was usually a store front. In Hasetsu, however, Hiroko lead the way as they entered the shrine, knocking and yelling out a greeting before sliding the door open.

They sat on cushions on the floor as Hiroko exchanged pleasantries and money. Yuuri was dead quiet, and Viktor reached out to squeeze his hand as they waited

Viktor decided to watch, taking a sneaky snapshot as Hiroko taught Yuuri how to wrap his belly with the white gauze sarashi. It was hard to understand her, instructions sprinkled in between memories and admonishments, her voice low and Saga-ben dialect thick.

Viktor's instagramming had slowed between retirement and after opening their skating school. He still took plenty of pictures, but he was filled with more determination after their second night back home.

"What do you have prepared for the baby?" hiroko had asked over dinner.

"Uhm…." Yuuri had hedged. Nothing.

"Well, in Russia, its tradition to not to buy anything until the baby is born." Viktor chirped.

Hiroko looked dismayed.

"What about an album?" Yuuri smacked his face, as his mother went and pulled out the family photo albums. Viktor looked absolutely delighted as they peeled apart the pages.

"Oh, Yuuri was a beautiful baby." Viktor cooed, pretending to pinch the cheeks of a photograph.

Yuuri didn't seem to get agitated until the second half album or so, when the white clothing disappeared and was replaced by ruffles and lace. There was a studio photo of Yuuri and Mari, dressed in ornate kimono and heavily hair sprayed hair for one of their Shichi-Go-San ceremonies. (There was a photoshoot for each age, after all.) Yuuri looked adorable, but after their wedding in Hasetsu, Viktor knew the difference between male and female kimono. And even without that, Viktor could tell why he felt Yuuri's discomfort ooze between them.

It was lots of pink, and girly ruffles, up until the age where Yuuri was old enough to pick his own clothing.

When Mari was old enough to to leave elementary school, Yuuri was just entering it. Hiroko cooed about the entrance ceremony, how sweet they were with Mari's new school uniform and Yuuri's outfit he had picked himself.

A little suit, with shorts and knee-high socks. An oversized plaid bow was pinned to the collar, and a slightly mismatched headband was stuck in Yuuri's awful bowl cut.

"Ah, that was right when Yuuri started to grow out his hair to be like Vicchan!" Hiroko sighed happily, as her son turned a tomato shade of red.

"Ah. My Yuuri." Viktor had cooed.

The stroll down memory lane ended up with Hiroko pressing the entrance ceremony photo into Viktor's palm with a knowing look. There was a brand new photo album setting on the table the next morning, the first page filled with prints from Yuuri and Viktor's wedding, the rest waiting to be filled.

So Viktor dutifully took photos, knowing from Yuuri's Instagram and years of marriage that Yuuri wasn't a photographer.

They stopped at You-me Town (the local department store) on the way home for what was supposed to be groceries. However, as they rode down the escalators from the parking garage, they were dumped into the baby section of the clothing floor. Yuuri took a few steps to turn to take the next escalator, before he stopped. Distracted by a fuzzy bear suit laid out on a table, their entire group stopped. Hiroko cooed in delight.

" _What kind of clothing do you have for the baby?"_ She asked, picking it up and rubbing her fingers over the fluffy fur of the bear pajamas.

" _Um… nothing…"_ Yuuri said, the anxiety in his voice so apparent that it made Viktor a little nervous.

"Well… in Russia, we don't buy anything until the baby is born." Viktor piped up, his eyes drifting to a little dress, white and printed with pink strawberries. Forget Versache… Japanese onesies are _adorable._

 _"Yes, but the baby is Japanese too."_ Hiroko hummed, and Yuuri looked up at Viktor sharply.

"We… should get a crib soon, ne?" Viktor smiled uneasily, and luckily the subject was dropped in interest of finding enough daikon for dinner.

Because, as Yuuri found out when they arrived home, they had a guest for dinner. Minako-sensei was there when they arrived home, cheerful and boisterous as always.

"Yuuri!" She sang, grabbing him by the shoulders "You look fatter every time I see you! Come on! " She teased, laughing as smacked him on the back. "Viktor's already here! No more handsome foreigners to come whip you into shape!"

"Actually," Yuuri said numbly, "It's Viktor's fault."

"Huh?" Minako turned her face to Viktor, who put on his best smile. "Yuuri isn't fat, he's pregnant!" He used his sing-songy voice. Minako shook Yuuri by the shoulders, violently enough to make Viktor worry about whiplash, her voice filling the entire in.

"YOU'RE PREGNANT? THERE'S A BABY IN THAT BELLY? WHEN WERE YOU GOING TO TELL ME!?" Her shock turned to anger and the tears. She wiped her face, sniffling as she mumbled something about being so proud. Yuuri steadied himself, rubbing the back of his neck. "It's a girl…" He mumbled shyly, smiling at Minako's face.

"A ballerina!" She cooed. The baby would have two prima ballerina's vying after her, and she probably didn't even have toes yet.

They ate together in the common room. Yuuri fell asleep soon after dinner, his head cradled in Viktor's lap. Viktor played with Yuuri's soft hair as Minako helped clear the dishes out of the room. It was hard. It was hard being away from work, and being back in a country where he was no longer fluent. It was hard seeing Yuuri be uncomfortable in a different way. But it was better. He could feel Yuuri melt against him, have him fall asleep in his hands instead of alone on the couch. The move and confession had done good for all of them.

Viktor began to see Yuuri smooth his hands over his belly in the morning, or in the kitchen, subconsciously in a moment of rest.

He caught Yuuri one night playing the music from their pair skates over the years—Stammi Vicino, Life and Love and other commissioned work. Sure, he had hidden the headphones under his shirt, and arranged the laptop in such an uncomfortably plausible way to look like he wasn't… but there was no denying it. Viktor had acknowledged it with a kiss, before joining Yuuri.

He was ready.


	10. Dysphoria

**dysphoria**

: a state of feeling very unhappy, uneasy, or dissatisfied

Years into their marriage, and Yuuri's family still fussed over letting Viktor do work at Yuutopia. Advertising had been no problem, but rolling up his sleeves and getting dirty was met with waving hands and admonishment. Luckily, Mari wasn't like that. Hiroko and Toshiya were out doing their monthly deep cleaning, which left Mari to take care of breakfast. Yuuri was allowed to sleep in, and was exempt from climbing ladders, cleaning gutters, or anything of the sort. Viktor was in suds up to his elbows as he scrubbed the dishes clean and Mari rinsed and dried them.

"Vicchan," Mari broke their comfortable silence, grabbing onto the next crusty rice bowl he was about to scrub. "Go look at Yuuri."

Viktor blinked. "Why?"

"Sister…." She made a sound searching for a word, before she gave up. "Go look." She said more forcefully, tugging the bowl out of his hand.

Viktor went upstairs without rinsing his hands, and he could feel his skin drying and tightening as the soap dried on it. A wet nose bumped through the ajar door before Viktor could pull it open. Makkachin stared up at him through the small crack in the door, before letting out a soft sigh. Viktor pulled it open the rest of the way.

"Yuuri…" He sang, his eyes searching the bed and then the room. It was as if a storm had run through—the entirety of both of their wardrobes lay scattered on the floor. The priest-blessed stomach wrap was tossed in a corner, where Mochi had pawed it into a nest to curl up on.

Yuuri sat in the middle of it, shirtless and his cheeks wet. He was chewing on his nails, a habit Viktor hated, and had spent a year working with Yuuri to break it.

"Oh, Yuuri…." Viktor's heart sank and he tip toed across the room. A shirt from Versace lay crumpled under one of Yuuri's god-awful cheap Uniqlo button down.

Viktor tried not to be angry. He couldn't be, when he looked at Yuuri, wrought with anxiety and a mess. A quiet mess, which was the worst.

Viktor sat down across from Yuuri, gently taking his hands out of his mouth. He clucked his tongue—some of his cuticles were bleeding. Viktor stared at them as he ran his thumb over Yuuri's knuckles.

After a few minutes, the words bubbled up between hiccups.

"I'm sorry."

"Nothing fits."

"She won't stop kicking."

Viktor took each phrase in stride, going from stroking to massaging Yuuri's hands. He wanted to hug him close, but Yuuri resisted. He was tense, worming this way and that. It reminded him of one particularly bad night, years ago. One Viktor couldn't forget—when Yuuri had told him that he felt like he wanted to tear his skin off.

Viktor had spent that night tracing kisses along every reaffirming part of Yuuri he loved. His chest, his stomach, his Adam's apple. The dip of his hips under his waistband, his hairy legs and calloused feet.

That was going to be harder now. Yuuri's face was softer, his stomach round and webbed with old and new stretch marks. The hormones helping their child grow were rubbing away at Yuuri physically and emotionally.

"Akari-chan," Viktor sang, lost. "Stop kicking Papa, or Daddy will be very mad,"

A wet sniffle turned into a laugh. "You're ridiculous, Vitya,"

"I know you don't have a lot of room, but Daddy promises you that you have a ten meter room waiting for you!" Viktor continued his sing-songy voice.

"Vitya, that's huge," Yuuri whispered, "Don't be ridiculous."

"Anything for my King and her Princess." Viktor said pointedly. Yuuri flopped into his chest , defeated , and he wrapped his arms around him. Spotting Yuuri's phone, he stretched far enough to snag it.

He had figured out the lock code early in their relationship—it took him one try. He put in his birthday and it had unlocked. Viktor had changed his to Yuuri's birthday the same night.

He pulled open the text app, tapping out a short message to Mari.

An hour later, a Uniqlo bag and a larger off-white branded bag were slid through the door. Makkachin wagged her tail, but didn't move from her spot. She had joined them on the floor, leaning into both of them and occasionally giving a wet kiss to Yuuri's cheeks (And Viktor's, when he whined of jealousy.)

Yuuri crept forward, pulling the items out of the bag. He worried his bottom lip, spreading out the maternity jeans over his lap and smoothing out the folds.

"Oh thank God! No more sweatpants!" Viktor gasped. He _may_ have played it up a little, but Yuuri would never know. This is what he needed. Sweatpants and boyfriend shirts would not last nine months. Mari had been the perfect person to ask. The new outfits were all neutral, the majority in blue tones, and the jeans were already rolled into a cuff.

Yuuri slid them on, nervously buttoning the elastic waist. He pulled out a t-shirt and a sweater, gingerly pulling them on. Viktor praised every designer in his adopted country, even the awful ones who figured plus-size means a tent. Whatever mix Mari bought was perfect.

"I was thinking, " Viktor spoke up as Yuuri settled into an outfit, looking at ease and comfortable. "It sucks missing the season. Why don't we invite some old friends to visit?"

Yuuri froze, a deer in the headlights. "Like who?"

"Phichit. Chris…."

"Leo, Seung-gil.." Yuuri supplemented. "Everyone?"

"Except that Jay guy."

"Viktor…" Yuuri sighed. "That would be nice. Let's invite people we know the name of, okay?"


	11. Baby Shower

**baby shower** a way to celebrate the expected or delivered birth of a child by presenting gifts to the mother at a party, whereas other cultures host a **baby shower** to celebrate the transformation of a woman into a mother.

"Feels good, doesn't it." Viktor mused. They were in the living room, sprawled out together on the couch. Viktor sat on one end, and Yuuri had his feet propped up on Viktor as he massaged them. Yuuri laid on top of a few pillows—some fit into the small of his back- his head propped up so he could read the paperback _What to Expect When You're Expecting_ propped in his hand.

"Mmm." Yuuri grunted, turning the page. He paused, peering over the edge of the book at his husband. "Did you really sticky-note 'When to expect horniness?'"

"I meant the weather, you know. It's nice to be able to be out of the kotatsu. It reminds me of when I first came here."

Yuuri's brow furrowed. Viktor hoped that the baby inherited Yuuri's beautiful dark eyebrows. He had played around with those "What will your future baby look like" generators more times than he would be willing to admit. But it wasn't perfect—the hair would be a greyish white with black spots, and they never used Yuuri's gorgeous brown eyes. The escapade almost always ended in frustration, and Viktor didn't dare save the photo on their shared computer.

"We met in April." He hummed. He was spending an awful lot of time on the 'horny' section.

"But it snowed!" Viktor gasped. He stopped rubbing his knuckles into the side of Yuuri's ankle. Yuuri's foot kicked him softly, a Makka-like nudge.

"Yeah. A lot of freaky stuff happened that year."

Viktor whined, before tickling the arch of Yuuri's foot. He burst into laughter, curling up before kicking at Viktor.

"Vitya! That's not fair!" He shrieked, tossing the book onto the floor and going at him with his hands. He struggled to sit upright, his round belly in the way. He tried a few times, giving up at the same time Viktor stopped. "I can't even see my feet." Yuuri whined, stretching back out to their former position, before pressing a heel to Viktor's sternum.

"That won't stop me." Viktor smiled, his lungs filled with something he realized after Yuuri, was love.

"I know. You like it." Yuuri purred, before he smacked his hands to his flushed face. Viktor laughed, not because Yuuri's ability to embarrass himself, but at the situation.

"I do." Viktor cooed, moving his arms around Yuuri's limbs to pat his belly.

"That book said that the baby is the size of butternut squash." Yuuri said, sliding his hands off of his face.

"A what?"

"Where did you get it, anyway?" It was English, and looked very American. There was even a section on doulas, which had been hard to parse on the internet dictionary. "Hasetsu isn't big enough to carry something like this." The local bookstore mainly carried copies of whatever novel the high school students were studying.

"Mari got it for me. Well, helped me. It was on Amazon."

So far, they had only bought things for the baby at the behest of Hiroko and Minako. There was a brand new crib, already built and tucked in a corner of the room. A small box of clothes Hiroko hadn't been able to part with sat inside it. Eventually they would have to go shopping—the clothes ranged from babyhood to Shichi-Go-San—but it was hard to get Yuuri to go. Viktor had caught him looking at babys-r-us online, but he purposefully took a wide berth whenever they went to the local Yumetown department store.

"How is it better than a blog?" Yuuri stretched, barely able to snatch it back into his hands. He smoothed the pages down apologetically.

"Well, it's written by a doctor, and not some crazy chick with a laptop." Viktor tried not to huff, but at this point he was getting nervous. Even with a bunch of layers, Yuuri waddled. There was no hiding it, no matter how much Yuuri tried or wanted to.

"There's nothing wrong with the internet." Yuuri retorted, but his voice was quiet. Reserved, but loud enough to be a rope thrown out at Viktor. He took it.

"Yeah?" He rested a hand on Yuuri's leg. He was hiding his face behind the book, turning the pages without reading them.

"I've been emailing the guys from the article."

"Article?"

"The one you printed out. The first one, when you brought this up. They have a blog, and I emailed them… I wasn't expecting anything back, but they wrote back."

Viktor felt relief and jealousy spring up in him at once. Yuuri was reaching out, and to the perfect people. A trans couple who had been pregnant-They could give support and understanding Viktor couldn't.

Which also made him feel a little green. How long had Yuuri been talking to someone else without Viktor knowing?

No, that was wrong. Yuuri always only had eyes for him—since before puberty, for God's sake. Viktor had no right to question Yuuri. His jealousy sat in the wrong place. Logically, it was great for Yuuri to be talking to someone he could relate to. Logically, Viktor knew that he was mad that it wasn't him he was looking for.

Yuuri set the book face down on his chest, and Viktor's heart sunk into his stomach. Yuuri's face was streaming with tears, overflowing with each slow blink.

"Yuuri!" Viktor pulled himself up, crawling out from under and then on top of Yuuri. "Don't cry," He gasped, but that only seemed to make the tears well up more.

"I'm sorry. I'm trying not to." Yuuri sniffled. Viktor pulled his sleeve down, wiping Yuuri's cheeks and nose. Old Viktor would never do that, but Current Viktor would ruin his best Armani on Yuuri's cheeks.

"What's wrong?" Viktor cupped Yuuri's face in his hands, shame creeping up his spine. He was busy being jealous, and maybe a little mad, and Yuuri was a mess.

"I should've told you. But I was scared."

"Scared of what? We're married, love." Viktor sighed. Not only was Yuuri weepy, he was insecure again.

"Scared that you weren't…into me anymore. So I sent a stupid email in the middle of the night. And he answered. They both did." Yuuri hiccupped. "I love you, Vitya, but, I know you'd never say that you weren't attracted to me anymore. You wouldn't admit it, so I asked for it… and what they said made sense. And it made me feel better."

"You're beautiful, Yuuri. Let me show you, right here." Viktor shifted. Yuuri laughed, pushing him back down.

"I told you! Stop, Vitya." Yuuri smiled through the tears, pushing down on his shoulders. "You know my anxiety. It's okay, I promise. It's been a lot of help."

"Okay. So blogs aren't so bad." Viktor sighed, before leaning down and placing a kiss on Yuuri's lips.

"I really hope I get over this by the time Phichit is here." Yuuri whimpered, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands.

"They come tomorrow, darling." Viktor.

"Tomorrow? Oh god, we have to clean!" Yuuri scrambled to get up, and Viktor used his weight to keep him down.

"Clean what? You can't sweep if you can't see your feet." Viktor teased, tapping Yuuri's nose.

"The van?" Yuuri offered, before sighing. "It's habit I guess. I feel like I need to do something."

"Maybe you're nesting!" Viktor's mouth stretched into a gleeful smile.

"Our closest friends in our careers are coming, Viktor." Yuuri said in a deadpan, before he wormed an arm from under Viktor's grasp. "Even though we're older." He tapped the whorl on the crown of Viktor's head. Viktor whined, melting into a useless puddle on top of Yuuri.

"Get off. You'll crush our child!" Yuuri cried as he tried to crawl out from under Viktor.

" _You're the children."_ Mari muttered, sliding the shoji door closed behind her. She smelled like tobacco, but had taken to hiking out into the yard instead of smoking on the porch.

Viktor laughed, as Yuuri went pink again. He carefully extricated himself, and Yuuri wobbily crawled onto his feet. He not only waddled, but wobbled, his center of gravity lower than he was used to. Viktor didn't dare bring it up, but he loved watching Yuuri transition from a cuddle-session with the dogs back onto his feet. He loved watching Yuuri in general, but in the past few months the feeling increased tenfold.

" _I'm not the one who got stuck on Donguri playgr—"_

" _Aa! Don't you dare!"_ Mari cut Yuuri off, wagging a finger. " _I don't bring up the castle, and you don't bring up the playground."_ Yuuri smiled nervously, using Viktor to steady himself on his feet.

Viktor made note to ask about the playground once Mari was out of earshot. Viktor May have grown up an only child, but he knew well enough—don't mess with the big sister.

"I could drive, you know." Viktor stood uselessly on the driver's side of the Yuutopia Katsuki van as Yuuri struggled to get the seatbelt around his belly.

"You only know how to get to the international terminal." Yuuri grunted, tugging the belt again. It would easily fit around his stomach, but Viktor's phone hadn't been plugged in, and they were running late. His frustration was jamming the belt, and any communication between them.

"Well, who are we picking up then?" Viktor bit out cooly, blinking. Yuuri gained an inch on the belt before it jammed again. He cussed in his myriad of language—a usual jumble of Japanese hisses, and a few f-bombs when he got especially frustrated. It was almost musical.

"They both went through Haneda, _Viktor."_ Yuuri stopped, his anger coming through his voice. Viktor reached over, pulling the belt out smoothly and clicking it onto place. Yuuri slid it so it sat lower on his stomach, averting his gaze.

It was quiet.

"Vitya." Yuuri said quietly.

"Huh?" Viktor grunted, leaning in, his tone thick with what-now? bitterness.

Yuuri lifted his head, planting a warm and shy kiss on Viktor's frown.

What Viktor Loves About Yuuri, Item 39485: When he gets embarrassed, he uses his body instead of words.

"Let's go by Lawsons, okay?" Viktor swung around the front of the van, about to jump into the passenger seat when Hiroko hopped down the driveway. She was still in her slippers as she handed Viktor two travel mugs and a sweet smelling paper bag.

"Itterashai." Hiroko said, with a flushed smile. He stared at the mugs, and the little post it notes stuck to the lids. He recognized Yuuri's name instantly, then his own, scrawled in hurried katakana. Although he had been able to read the kana for years, Hiroko had still doodled their faces (and Yuuri's glasses) under their names. The scent of tea mingled with coffee and love.

"Ittekimasu, mama." Viktor cooed, turning to hand Yuuri his cup. He took it, sipping some of the steam instead of drinking it. Yuuri started the car, the poodle keychain jiggling as they pulled out of the gravel driveway.

Viktor unrolled the paper bag once they were on the highway. It smelled like the bakery down the street, and it was most likely was. There was a melonpan bun, as well as a cream pastery shaped like the head of a panda. At the bottom of the bag, wrapped in tissue paper, was a hot dog wrapped in bun and baked with mustard, the face cut to look like a snake.

"Aaaahn." Yuuri opened his mouth, keeping his eyes on the road. Viktor tore off the ear of the panda bun, feeding Yuuri. Yuuri's teeth scraped Viktor's fingers, and he remembered their wedding day… and their first GPF officially together, where Yuuri had been all tongue and teeth and champagne.

They sat in mostly silence. The van was too old for an AUX cord, and the only CD left in the car was some Backstreet Boys and Red Hot Chili Peppers.

Soon, Viktor could hear Yuuri's left foot tap on the felt mat.

He was nervous.

He didn't say anything until they pulled into the pickup-lane.

Phichit and Chris had found each other already—and were crowded together, taking a selfie. Chris' husband was in charge of the luggage. Viktor rolled down the window as they crept up the lane.

"Welcome to Japan!" Viktor called out, waving. Phichit did a little excited dance, running to the edge of the sidewalk. Yuuri parked, and his hands shook terribly as he pulled the key from the ignition. The poodle shook, the house key jingling.

"You can do it, love." Viktor whispered, reaching out and squeezing Yuuri's hand.

"Yuuri!" Phichit called, and said man reluctantly popped open the door, unbuckled himself and awkwardly slid off the chair onto the pavement outside.

There was a high pitched shriek and the van bounced on its shocks as Phichit tackled Yuuri to it.

"Congratulations! You're GLOWING!" Phichit looked delighted, hugging the air and life out of Yuuri. He sheepishly smiled, taking a wheezing breath. He was rubbing his belly as Viktor extricated himself from the van.

"Congratulations, you. Celebrations are in order." Chris cooed, sliding an arm around Viktor's shoulder. Phichit was forcibly taking photos with Yuuri, in-between chatter. All Viktor could catch was 'hashtag reunion' and details about the flight.

"Yeah." Viktor said airily.

Viktor convinced Yuuri to let him drive home, helping him step into the backseat to sit next to Phichit.

Halfway home, it started raining, slowing down the already-slow speed highway down to a crawl.

"It got quiet." Viktor said, a lull in the conversation between him, Chris and his husband unmasking it.

"Yuuri's asleep." Phichit chirped, holding his screen up to the front seat. Viktor glanced at it, to see a shot of his husband asleep, framed by a cutesy border and a few heart stickers.

"Oh, he's going to feel awful." Viktor said without thinking. Yuuri had spent the past week worrying about a schedule to keep their guests entertained for the week they were spending in Hasetsu. Viktor had reassured him, that the hot springs and company would be enough, but Yuuri hadn't been convinced. Viktor had stopped him before he got to booking shinkansen tickets to a bigger city.

"He needs it. It's hard work, making a human." Phichit said forcefully, and they all chuckled.

"Thank you… everyone. We were worried." Viktor said after another pause. "It's weird for Yuuri…I imagine it's even weirder for others." He added, not noticing his heart rate pick up.

"Not really." Phichit set his phone in his lap. "Yuuri and I were in college together. We've been through weird you can't top." He said it like he was wearing a badge of pride. "The highest highs, and lowest lows. We've got history."

"Yeah, but…"

"If Yuuri would get pregnant, it would be with you." Chris murmured, Phichit humming in agreement.

"I'm pretty sure we talked about it before." Phichit murmured. Viktor blanched.

"You what?"

"Honey, Yuuri's been out to me years longer than he's been with you. Rooming in Detroit creates a bond deeper and profound than blood and marriage."

"Out?" Chris hummed. "Did you cry like Viktor did?"

"I didn't cry!" Viktor snapped.

"You did! You cried that you were so in love, and no lack of di—"

"Shhhh!" Phichit saved the day. "I didn't cry. I was really happy. Yuuri helped me through a lot. I was scared, being gay and brown in America and figuring it out in college. He told me, even though he didn't have to."

The car went quiet in awe.

"That's so much more…graceful."

"And one day I went to borrow a shirt, and found one of his packers." Phichit cackled. "Nothing bonds brothers like silicon-" He gulped as he got elbowed in the ribs, Yuuri roused from his sleep.

"Pull over." Yuuri said groggily, and the mood went tense. Viktor pulled over to the side of the road, barely out of his seatbelt before the back door slid open.

"Yuuri, I'm sorry!" Phichit called out, Viktor following Yuuri down into the grass median.

"Yuuri, he didn't—" He stopped short, wincing at the retching. "Oh, darling…" He stepped forward, catching Yuuri just as he started to wobble out of his crouch. The grass crunched behind them, and Viktor didn't need to turn.

"Look in the car for some water?" He called out, and Phichit turned to dig through his carry on. He came back with a half-finished bottle of ILOHAS spring water he had picked up on the layover, handing it to Viktor. He held it to Yuuri's mouth, letting him drink a mouthful, before swishing and spitting it out into the grass.

"My poor kotyenok." Viktor hummed, rubbing the small of Yuuri's back. He turned, burying his face in Viktor's jacket. "Let's go back?"

"No." Yuuri mumbled into the fleece fabric. "I can't."

"You have to, love. We're in the middle of nowhere."

They eventually convinced Yuuri back into the fan, stacking the luggage and moving it until he could lay down in the third row with a box of tissues.

Lunch was set up in the common room when they arrived. Viktor pulled the luggage to their rooms, before returning to the room. Yuuri laid his head in his lap, rather than indulging in the salad and karaage chicken arranged artfully on a tray.

"You two are so sweet, " Chris' man said, polite fully finishing the meal. Chris sprawled out on the tatami, resting his head in his husbands lap.

"It makes my teeth rot, it's so sweet." Chris teased.

"That reminds me!" Phichit shot up. "Where did you put my suitcase?" Phichit danced around, disappearing down the hall and returning then minutes later.

"I couldn't wrap them, with customs and all, but I tried!" Phichit dumped a pile of gifts onto Yuuri's lap, startling from his dozing reverie.

"Phichit," Yuuri's voice shook, his eyes already full with tears. "That's so nice… and so cute…" He held up a tiny onesie made to look like a fat hamster suit. Among the rest of the pile included a Youtube onesie, a traditional Thai outfit, and a frilly dress with hearts printed all over it.

"Part 2 is in the mail. Uncle P got a head start on the spoiling." Phichit grinned widely.

"Aah, so this is a game?" Chris crawled up from his perch, returning with a fairly more modest pile. Viktor helped unfold and refold the tissue paper, pulling out the tiny outfits to admire them. A onesie covered in rhinestones, and the smallest tutu anyone had set theirs eyes on. Chris had been somewhat more practical, including a stack of soft towels and 6 pairs of pastel colored socks.

Yuuri was drowning in tears, Chris offering the closest box of tissues, and Phichit wrapping both him and Victor in a bear hug.

"Akari is the luckiest girl alive." Yuuri hiccupped.


	12. Schadenfreude

**Schadenfreude German noun**

 **Pleasure derived from the misfortune of others**

"Are you sure you don't want to go to the Aeon mall in Fukuoka?" Yuuri said weakly. Even though all of their guests (Phichit especially) looked enthralled by the shopping street, Yuuri still worried. Even two hours in the 100-yen store didn't convince him that everyone was properly entertained. Viktor squeezed Yuuri's side, his hand resting on it as they walked down Hondoori arcade.

Phichit had already fastened a hamster-shaped bell charm to his cellphone and was eagerly taking shots of different store signs. They stopped at the clothing store, where 99% of the time, a white cat lounged adorably by the front door. There were quite a few stray cats in Hasetsu, and the owner liked to feed them.

"It's fine, Yuuri." Viktor tried to soothe him. "Why don't we bring him to that cute café?"

Yuuri frowned in thought. "Himawari?" There were only a few 'cute' café's still open in Hasetsu, and Viktor thought _every_ café was cute.

"Yeah! That one!" Viktor said cheerfully, his plan complete. Yuuri got ten times more irritable when hungry now than he did before getting pregnant.

They turned down one of the narrow alleyways, walking down until they came upon the brightly white and brown painted cabin-like building. The front door had a sign with a sunflower painted on it, and inside they had a mad-scientist like coffee brewing setup that fascinated Viktor.

"Wow, this is amazing Yuuri!" Phichit gasped, snapping a picture of the setup. Chris sat close to his husband, paging through the scrapbook-like handmade menu books after they sat down.

Instead of the usual older lady coming to take their order, a woman closer to the skater's ages stood up. She had been talking with a few other women of the same age, and looked more like a customer than a waitress.

" _Welcome to the—wow, Katsuki-chan?"_ The woman gasped, placing both hands on the table and leaning forward.

Viktor felt Yuuri's muscles tense under the hand pressed to Yuuri's side. He forced an awkward smile.

" _Um, it's Yuuri_ …." He said with a small nod.

" _Well, of course!"_ She gestured to his body, and then to the unavoidable bump. " _Sara-chan, it's Yuuri-chan! Remember? We went to the same school! "_ A woman in the corner table waved.

" _Well, it's actually Nikiforov-Katsuki now."_ Yuuri mumbled. His eyes had dropped to the floor.

" _Wow! Congratulations! You got married and started a family!"_

Viktor frowned in distaste. It was hard to tell if the woman was trying to guise a compliment as an insult, or if she was just stupid. Viktor had noticed that whenever they were in a large group of foreign skaters while in Japan, any interactions defaulted to Yuuri. Even though Viktor had studied for _years_ and was functionally fluent, no one ever thought to think he could understand them.

" _Yeah, um, I did…"_ Yuuri's avoidance turned into a deer in the headlights stare.

" _You're so lucky! I never thought anyone in Hasetsu would marry a hot foreigner, especially after your weird phase in high school!"_ The woman chirped.

" _This one, please."_ Phichit held up the menu, pointing to the photo of the menu item. Chris and his man were watching, blank look on their faces. Phichit knew enough of his bestie that whatever conversation that was going on was not a good one.

" _Yuuri, we can go to another café."_ Viktor turned to his husband, squeezing his side. Yuuri didn't even react, his eyes wide and face flushed, facing the girl from his past.

 _"Aaah, yes, the katsu sandwich set."_ The woman stuttered, not knowing what else to say, especially when the 'hot foreigner' spoke in smooth, Saga-ben accented Japanese.

"It's okay." Yuuri said robotically, reaching across to their shared menu. " _Two more sandwhich sets, with orange juice and milk tea."_

Viktor worked to keep his jaw shut, staring at his husband gathering the last orders and the menus back into a neat stack.

When the waitress left, Viktor took one of Yuuri's hands in his. "Yuuri, we can go. I can cover our bill and leave while she's in the back."

"We don't need to leave, Viktor!" Yuuri said, the end of his sentence higher in the pitch than the rest.

"This is a darling space. There's a very natural ambiance." Chris offered.

"But she misgendered you and said you transitioning was a _weird phase."_ Viktor's words dripped with venom and anger.

The table went silent.

Phichit looked _pissed_.

"Viktor, it doesn't matter!" his voice was a little too loud for the room.

"It does matter, Yuuri!" Viktor threw up his hands. "You're not a girl, and it wasn't a phase!"

"I know, Viktor!" Yuuri's voice cracked, the forcefulness of his tone breaking underneath. "I've known all my life. This isn't the first time, or the last. I want to stay." Yuuri blinked rapidly, bowing his head to hide it from the rest of the table.

Viktor opened his mouth, before catching Phichit's look out of the corner of his eye. He licked his lips instead, studying the wood grain of the table in front of him.

Halfway through their sandwiches, words jumped past Viktor's lips.

"But we should tell her—"

"No." Yuuri said weakly.

"Why not?" Viktor huffed, stabbing the side salad with his fork a little too violently.

"Because Yuuri doesn't owe everyone an explanation." Phichit piped up, his brows furrowed. "We started a policy. If someone says she, we say he, and move on. No one needs to know anything else."

Yuuri nodded weakly, and Viktor deflated.

He remembered the night Yuuri had breached the topic with him.

They were in a hotel—for what competition, exactly, he didn't remember. It was after they started training together, but before Yuuri moved to St. Petersburg permanently. Viktor had thought the awkward air between them was the weird spot in their life—lots of big transitions and plans after winning silver. They had engagement rings, and shared beds, but kissing stopped and hands never went below the waist.

Viktor was drunk with happiness, the endorphins running through his body making him a little more handsy than usual. He hadn't felt this happy in years.

"Yuuri," He had cooed, his hands resting on the elastic waistband of Yuuri's pajama pants. "I want all of you. I want to taste you, my beautiful Yuuri." Viktor had lowered his head, kissing at the fly of Yuuri's pants.

He was flung across the bed, pushed off suddenly and violently away by Yuuri's hands.

Viktor remembered the twisted mix of emotions in his gut, and that he had tears spring instantly to his eyes.

"Y-y-y-ou can't." Yuuri had stuttered, bright red and immediately sorry.

"Why?" Viktor 's voice had escaped into a whine. His tears rolled down his cheeks, forgotten, when he heard the quick and short gasps that always began Yuuri's most violent panic attacks.

"I don't have one. I-I, i—"

Viktor blinked, and Yuuri laughed awkwardly, in a short, breathless way.

"Did it…?" He made a chopping gesture with his hands, crawling back onto the bed.

"I was born a girl." The words tumbled out of Yuuri's mouth so fast, it was hard to understand him.

When Yuuri got nervous, his accent got thicker. It was adorable during press conferences.

It made things harder at that time.

Viktor had repeated Yuuri's sentence slowly, only earning a slow nod.

Silence sat between them, as Viktor scratched his chin in thought.

"Can I get inside you instead?"

Yuuri nearly choked at the suggestion. "What?"

"My Yuuri is Yuuri. I don't know anything about…." He made a vague gesture. "But, if you're not comfortable with that… then there are other options…with men…"

Yuuri wheezed.

"I…. I feel…disgusting." He wiped the snot running from his nose.

"You're beautiful." Viktor had said, and he meant it.

The night had ended with an emergency call to Chris while Yuuri took a long, hot shower to clear his head. Viktor had committed the call to memory, using it as a guidebook for the next few months.

Scene: Viktor, huddled in a hotel closet, with his cellphone pressed to his ear

Chris: Hello?

Viktor: I have no idea what I'm doing

Chris: It's a little late to ask for coaching help

Viktor: Ha ha. Remember Alexander?"

Chris: Oh, Alexander. So flexible. A wonderful 6 months I could never forget.

Viktor: During Pride, the flag he was carrying?

Chris: Mmm, yes. Why, do you want a transgender flag costume? I have connections.

Viktor: This isn't about competitions.

Chris: Go on?

Viktor: How did things go…when you were...intimate?

Chris: Why are you curious all of a sudden? You are devoted to Yuuri… Yuuri this, Yuuri that.

Viktor: Ahem…

Chris: Ah.

Well, communicate. Ask what is okay, what isn't. I honestly don't think you're in trouble, considering I've never seen you closer than 3 feet away from a woman….

Viktor: But this is Yuuri. I can't mess it up.

Chris: Yes, it is Yuuri. The same Yuuri as yesterday, and last week.

Viktor: I wanted to suck him off and he pushed me off the bed.

Chris: Ah, sounds normal.

Viktor: I've been dreaming about riding him

Chris: I will link you to the website where Alexander and I got our accessories, darling

Viktor: I am going to die if I scare him away, Chris. He's four feet away and it hurts.

Chris: That's love, my dear. Feel better?

Viktor: So I don't do anything differently?

Chris: Just keep loving him like the sick, stupid man you are.

Chris had assuaged his emotional side, and in the few weeks between the competition and Yuuri moving to Russia he sought out logical fulfillment. Medical books—novels written by transgender authors. Books written by mothers of transgender reality stars. He knew about every procedure, how long recovery took, and how long and expensive it was to change sex designation on official paperwork.

Viktor was prepared, pulling out the pink, blue and white flag along with the rainbow one when St. Petersburg Pride arrived two months later. Yuuri had shyly wrapped it around his shoulders. But they spent most of the time wrapped around each other, the rainbow covering them both. Viktor only realized that night, when Phichit had commented on the Instagram post about Yuuri finally being able to attend Pride in a decent outfit.

Viktor had lived his life living a role that rested just outside his skin. He had always been loud—a presence, larger than life.

Sometimes he forgot that Yuuri, his beautiful Yuuri, had spent it quietly chasing after the skin he wanted.

Viktor didn't disagree with Phichit. It had taken Yuuri a year to open up to Viktor. He really didn't need to tell a waitress at a small café in his hometown the ins and outs of why it was Yuuri-kun and not Yuuri-chan.

It was just so, so hard to let it go. To leave a loose thread—to let someone think Yuuri different than he really was.

But Yuuri had been the one to grow up Yuuri. It was Yuuri's hometown. It was his battle. Viktor had to be his cavalry, but Yuuri was the captain. It was his call.

However angry it made him to hold back.


	13. Tsuyu

**梅雨 tsuyu n. rainy season. Lit. plum rain**

The day that Chris and Phichit left, it rained.

The air was heavy, which matched the mood. They drove back home in silence, Yuuri staring out the window with a hand resting on his belly.

Although it had been out of season that day, the grey skies and heavy air stuck around. It neared June—Rainy season, and their due date.

"Your hair will adjust, just leave it." Yuuri said, waddling back into their bedroom. Viktor was adding another serum to his platinum hair, but it still was misbehaving and frizzy.

"Easy for you to say, yours is perfect." Viktor huffed. Yuuri didn't reply, petting Mochi after he hopped up onto the bed, within reaching distance.

"I need your help." Yuuri muttered, easing onto the bed. He moved like he was heavy and everything was slippery. Adorable.

"Yes?" Viktor immediately forgot about the hair disaster and the two other products he had with him.

"Socks. Please." Yuuri spoke plainly, but his cheeks flushed pink.

Viktor was on his feet in seconds, pulling open Yuuri's dresser drawer and pulling out a pair from the communal sock drawer. He rushed over and knelt on the floor, cupping Yuuri's heel in his hands.

"Vitya, you don't need to—"

"I want to." Viktor said before Yuuri could finish his sentence. He massaged the arch of his husbands feet, eliciting a moan from the man. Viktor felt his own face blush and a tickle of pleasure run up his spine.

"Vitya, we have ten minutes till we have to leave," Yuuri tried to sound serious, but it came out as a purr. He didn't move away, no matter how much he protested verbally.

"Ten minutes is plenty."

"Ten minutes was plenty when I was 25, or like, three months pregnant. "

"Oh, are you asking for more than a massage?" Viktor quipped with a mischievous quirk to his lips.

"Don't act like you weren't trying." Yuuri grunted. "Socks, please." He wiggled his toes, bopping Viktor's nose. Viktor reluctantly slipped them on, tugging them up to Yuuri's swollen ankles.

"What appointment is it this time?" Viktor had expected ultrasounds, but Japan seemed to add some bureaucracy to it. A few of their appointments included a powerpoint, a book of pamphlets, and a packet with a keychain. Viktor had seen it hanging on purses on trains before- but it stayed in the envelope.

"Final checkup." Yuuri seemed to realize as he said the words, how real they were.

"Check up on what?" Viktor frowned, still holding Yuuri's foot.

"The baby. Paperwork. " Yuuri shrugged. "Maybe some bloodwork? I asked about my testosterone…"

Viktor smiled. "It will make you happier to be back on it, wont it."

"I didn't miss the needles…" Yuuri trailed off, subconsciously running his hand under his chin.

He had never seen anyone shave until he moved in with Viktor. He didn't expect it—growing up with his father, he never build the memory or genetic print for it. But he missed the step down in his voice, his adams apple. Everything he treasured finding in high school had faded away. It was a different kind of longing now.

"It will be nice to have a routine back." Viktor stood up, pressing a kiss to Yuuri's jawline.

"There won't be any routines… babies don't even sleep for weeks…" Yuuri mumbled.

"It's too late to back out now, love." Viktor hummed, catching his reflection in a mirror and smoothing his hair back.

Yuuri no longer flinched at the squirt of the cold gel on his stomach, or the pressure from the tech pressing the ultrasound wand into his skin. He was at utter peace, watching the monitor closely.

Viktor ended up taking a snapshot on his phone, his heart full at the sight of the sweet swell of Yuuri's belly, how his hand rested just above it. The loving stare at the grainy image projected onto the screen.

Even with years of practice, the medical terminology flew over Viktor's head. The sat next to Yuuri—wiped clean and back in his shirt as the doctor and Yuuri spoke in soft melodies. Viktor waited until they stood up, following the cue, bowing slightly and offering a handshake.

"All good?" Viktor found himself biting his bottom lip.

"Oh. Yeah!" Yuuri looked up a Viktor, before smiling. "Three weeks, and then they said we can do a C-section.

"A…. C-section?" Viktor blinked. "Surgery?"

Yuuri's smile fell. "Well, I guess? They keep you awake, but you don't feel anything."

"You don't want to feel anything?" Viktor said flatly. He'd read about doulas, water births, all sorts of different ways. They spent more time worrying about a nursery than the actual day.

"No. Nothing." Yuuri said, his expression becoming ever so slightly grave. "I could barely deal with you…" His gaze fluttered away. "You know. " He cleared his throat. "I can't deal with a bunch of doctors for god knows how long…"

"Okay." Viktor sounded angry, but he wasn't.

He was terrified.

The closest to surgery he ever ventured was six stitches in the emergency room after a close call with another skaters foot.

He knew it wasn't how his mother had died. That the surgeries had been to try and save her.

But it was hard to separate the two after a lifetime.

"Vitya, I want ice cream." Yuuri took his hands, waddling toward the door.

"Yes, my love." Viktor chirped, as if he was conditioned.

"Vitya."

There was a rush of constant rain that hadn't let up since that morning.

Viktor had ventured outside to pluck a few branches of ajisai—hydrangea—sparing Hiroko from the pelting heavy drops.

The rest of the day had been spent indoors, away from the impenetrable wetness.

It was past midnight, and the downpour showed no signs of letting up. Even the frogs had stopped croaking.

"Mh? Do we need to evacuate?" The TV had been on during the day, showing the path of Typhoon No.11. It was hitting Fukuoka directly, but was just brushing by Hasetsu.

Viktor hated to imagine what the people in the center of the storm were dealing with.

Yuuri keened in pain. "No."

Viktor sat up. Yuuri was on his hands and knees on the bed. Makkachin and Mochi were on either side of him, staring and silently beating their tails on the mattress.

"Vitya, it hurts." Yuuri cried, before sucking in a whistling breath.

"What hurts? Bad hurts?" It was still early in June. They just had the appointment. They just got the pamphlet on labor.

"Bad hurts." Yuuri grunted, rolling onto his back and pressing a hand to his stomach. "Wake up my mom."

"We have to go to the hospital." Viktor jumped out of bed.

"Pants." Yuuri grunted through his teeth, Viktor stopped, before searching the floor for his underwear and a suitable set of clothing.

"I know where the hospital is." Viktor said, pulling on a Tshirt he had fished for blindly.

"It might be closed."

"Closed? Hospitals close here?" Viktor's voice rose and his face twisted into disgust.

"Now's not the time for intercultural learnin—aah!"

"Yuuri, are you okay?" Viktor froze.

"Go!" Yuuri jabbed a finger toward the door. As if on the same wavelength, Mochi barked.

Viktor burst out of the door, hopping excitedly from one foot to the other.

"Shit." He stared down the hallway. He had no idea which door belonged to who. He knew where the old bedroom was, and Yuuri's room. Nothing else had mattered.

Viktor was still weighing the risk of knocking on doors or facing Yuuri again when a door slid open.

"Mari-nee-chan?" Viktor squeaked before he could catch himself. A family of night owls, they were.

She looked up, with the same tired look he'd seen in Yuuri's face before. Maybe it was later than he thought.

"We have to go to the hospital." Viktor stuttered, going back to his nervous hopping. She only blinked, repeating the Japanese word back slowly.

"Yes, Hospital! The baby!" Viktor snapped, close to biting his nails. A habit he had knocked before his senior debut.

"Oh. OH. Viktor," Mari grabbed Viktor's face in both of her hands, squeezing his cheeks. "B-YOU-IN."

"BI-YOU-IN" Viktor repeated, his brow furrowing.

"NO. No haircut. BYOU-IN" Mari said firmly. Viktor squirmed, grabbing Mari's face back.

"Vicchan, what is going on?" Hiroko's voice came from the end of the hallway. "It's three in the morning, there aren't any salons open."

A frustrated snarl erupted out of Viktor.

"Akari…kuru!" He grunted. The baby was coming, in the most basic way he knew how to say it.

The two Katsuki women flurried into activity. Hiroko disappeared into the room, the low murmur of voices announcing that Toshiya was awake now too. Mari got dressed and went down to lay out a simple breakfast and a note for the guests, before turning on the A/C on in the van.

Hiroko bustled by, as Viktor stood , lost and directionless in the hallway. He watched as she stood by the bed, rubbing the small of Yuuri's back.

"Vicchan," Hiroko called her voice calm and soothing. "Pack Yuuri some pajamas, okay?"

Viktor immediately launched into action, grabbing one of their carry-on knapsacks and throwing Yuuri's favorite pair of pajama pants and the softest tshirt into the bag.

"My back hurts," Yuuri whimpered from the bed, his face buried in the sheets. Hiroko patted Yuuri's shoulder, glancing at her watch. Rain hammered on the tile roof and the balcony outside. Yuuri had been hurting since dinner the night before—Yuuri hadn't complained, but Viktor could tell. It was why they had gone to bed earlier, and why Yuuri was sitting in a nest of pillows.

Yuuri cried out in pain. Hiroko dropped her wrist, turning and taking the bag from Viktor. "Let's go, okay?"

"Okay." Viktor said automatically, his eyes on Yuuri. He stepped forward, helping his husband slowly onto his feet. They were midway down the hallway before Yuuri's knees buckled with another cry of pain. He was breathless as Viktor went down with him, catching and cradling him in his arms.

"Yuuri, please don't die." Viktor whispered, along with a soft Catholic prayer he remembered from his childhood.

"You're not helping!" Yuuri snapped, the words ending in a wheeze. He sucked in a shaky breath, his skin warm and sticky.

Yuuri was panicking.

"I'm sorry love! I'm sorry I'm sorry!" He kept his arms under Yuuri as he tried to stand back up. They resumed their slow journey down the hall and stairs. The rest of the family was in the van when they arrived.

The step up into the van seemed impossible. Yuuri was hunched over, his head pressed into Viktor's chest. Viktor knelt, scooping up Yuuri into his arms and ducking into the van himself.

They drove twenty minutes into downtown, to the largest hospital that Viktor had seen in passing, but had never paid much attention to. Today, it seemed like the most important place in the world.

The hospital was mainly empty, and Yuuri got a room of his own within minutes. Viktor half wished that they were back in St. Peterburg, where he could easily understand the low murmur of the nurses and doctors that passed through the room. He didn't have the energy or focus to translate.

When the color drained from Yuuri's face, and he bit out in short words, begging… Viktor begged for translation. Mari sat back, in a corner of the room. Hiroko was holding Yuuri's other hand. Toshiya had faded into the background—wherever he was, he wasn't in the room.

"What did they say? What's going on?" Mari didn't translate—and Hiroko didn't look away from Yuuri, who looked close to chewing through his bottom lip.

"It's too fast." Yuuri said hollowly, but thankfully in english.

"What? " Viktor's heart dropped. It was two weeks early, but had they miscalculated? Was their baby at risk?"

"I can't do a C-section." Yuuri squeezed his eyes tightly, and tears rolled down his face. His panic mixed with the stabbing sensations in the center of his pelvis. The blood drained out of Viktor's hands, but it wasn't a sliver of the pain he could see cross Yuuri's face.

"Oh." Viktor said softly, running the fingers of his other hand up and down the back of Yuuri's hand. "You can do it. You rose from 6th place to a multi gold-medaler."

"THIS IS YOUR FAULT TOO!" Yuuri cried through another wave of pain. Viktor couldn't help but laugh.

He caught a word from one of the nurses—nippun—two minutes. Viktor hated how context-dependant Japanese was. The doctor was in no rush, and it seemed impossible for the baby to come in as little as two minutes. Yuuri had just been dressed in a gown, monitors taped to his skin.

They all averted their gaze as the blanket covering Yuuri's knees were lifted, and the doctor bowed down.

The two minutes must be why Yuuri was denied a C-section. The contractions seemed to come more often than that, but for now it was the only thing that made sense.

"When are they giving you pain medicine?" Viktor asked when the room had calmed down somewhat.

"What?" Yuuri panted. His hair was sticking to his forehead with sweat and the heavy humidity from the plum rain.

"The pain medicine. In your spine." Viktor repeated, getting worried. Yuuri translated it into Japanese, and Hiroko hummed, shaking their head. They didn't do that in Japan.

"Are you crazy?" Viktor wanted to shout. It was enough that Yuuri had to deal with the examinations and hands pressing into him, but to have to bear every sensation for the entire time was too much.

The contractions went from two minutes to every minute, even though the crowd of nurses didn't return. A single nurse would pop in and out, lifting the blanket, before being replaced by the doctor.

At 3:20 AM, Akari Ekaterina Katsuki-Nikiforov was born.

One minute Yuuri was left alone, his face crumpled in pain. The next, he was told to push. He bent forward, his damp hair falling into his eyes. He hadn't had a haircut in months. Viktor brushed it back, pressing his cold hand to Yuuri's cheek in sync with another push.

Viktor lost any sense of his environment as tears poured over Yuuri's cheeks. They flowed like a flooding river, and he stared until he heard the mewling cry behind him.

He turned, staring at awe at the little purplish baby in the doctor's hands. He felt conflicted- disgusted and in love all at once. What had been an abstract idea, then Yuuri's stomach, was a real, life, breathing human. He watched as they wiped her clean, fastening a plastic clip before handing him a pair of gloves and a set of long-nosed scissors to cut the cord .

"Hello, darling." Viktor whispered to the baby laying on Yuuri's stomach. He felt faint at the excitement—or maybe about the amount of blood. Yuuri was only sitting up by virtue of the pillows stuffed behind him, his thumb stroking the soft whorl of dark brown hair on her head.

"She's perfect, Yuuri." Viktor cooed as they swaddled her and transferred her closer to Yuuri's heart, settling her in his arms.

Yuuri's eyes shone with tears. His glasses were still on the nightstand at home, but he didn't say anything , instead captivated by the tiny face resting against his bare skin.

"I love her. I love you." Yuuri choked out as the tears came in a greater rush.

"Thank you, my love." Viktor pressed a kiss to Yuuri's lips.

Before he could process how unusually cold they were, it was too late.

The oxygen monitor clipped to Yuuri's pointer finger went haywire, alarms beeping and summoning the only other nurses on shift. Viktor was pushed back, but not far enough. Although only in the world for a few minutes, he automatically reached out and took Akari from the nurses that took her away from Yuuri. It felt like an old habit, but he was unaware, staring hollowly at the crimson red soaked blanket that was pushed to Yuuri's feet.

It was a sinister déjà vu to that day in their apartment- if it had instead turned out to be a murder scene, with blood between Yuuri's legs, saturating the fabric to the point that the awful liquid pooled on top of it.

They disconnected the monitors, transferring it to a battery on a cart. They wheeled Yuuri out of the room, leaving Viktor staring as his husband left, cradled in a halo of pillows. He felt completely alone, his newly-met daughter in his arms, although Hiroko and Mari remained.

This was not what he had prayed for.


	14. Optimistic

**optimistic**

 **adjective**

 **hopeful and confident about the future**

Hiroko took Akari after Viktor stood in the middle of the room, completely still for fifteen minutes.

They wheeled in a bassinette, but the room was too big for it.

It was missing Yuuri.

Viktor was told secondhand—or at least, he felt like the words reached another Viktor on another plane—that it was too early to risk taking the baby to a waiting room. That they could wait here, or go to the surgical waiting room on the third floor.

Toshiya entered the room, and talked with his wife in hushed, somber tones.

It wasn't fair.

This wasn't a trade, or a bargain. He had only wanted a family, and now he was holding one he barely knew, while the love of his life floated somewhere above them.

Viktor sunk into the small leather couch in the corner of the room once Hiroko took over. He paced the hall, going to the third floor waiting room before turning around and going back to the maternity ward.

He stood in the doorway of the room, watching the elevator. After twenty minutes, he gave up. He tuned into the chatter from the nurses, who hovered around together.

He carefully typed each kana into the browser of his phone, the word hammered into his consciousness each time the nurses repeated it with shock.

He translated it to Russian, but it still didn't make sense.

Rupture.

He felt like his heart had ruptured.

It was his fault. If he had woken earlier, if he hadn't hesitated about knocking on doors, Yuuri would still be in the room.

He would have had the C section as planned, and childbirth wouldn't have ripped Yuuri away from them.

Despite the world ending, the sun still rose. It was irritatingly sunny—the sun threw its rays directly into the room, warming the forgotten cup of coffee Toshiya had offered Viktor hours earlier.

It wasn't until the sun was fully up that the doctors came to the walked right past Viktor, to his mother and father. Viktor fought past his anger to key into the words—to see if they used _nakunarimashita,_ _he passed, we're worry for your loss.._

He didn't hear them. Hiroko only moved forward, patting Viktor's arm before taking his hand and leading him on like a small child.

He followed blindly, up to the elevator and to the recovery rooms, small beds separated by green curtains.

He thought Akari was the most beautiful thing he'd seen, but Yuuri had that beat.

Beautiful, gorgeous Yuuri, sweaty and damp and pale, awake but drowsy and staring at the ceiling.

Beautiful, precious Yuuri, his voice rough and far away, his expression dreamy with traces of anesthesia running from him as tubes of saline and blood ran into him.

"Oh, Yuuri." Viktor sobbed, collapsing his husband and pressing his face into his heart.

"Careful." Yuuri croaked. His stomach was wrapped in gauze, the hospital gown gone. Tubes ran in and out of him—draining stents, fluids… it didn't matter.

"I love you so much Yuuri, if I had known that you were in danger, I would have never—I'm so sorry." Viktor sobbed, the words running together.

Yuuri clumsily brushed his fingers through Viktor's hair. "I love you too." He murmured. "Where's our daughter?"

"Back…in your room…" Viktor lifted his head, a lump still stuck in his throat.

"You can't just leave our only child alone." If it was a normal conversation, the words would be strained with anger. But Yuuri's voice was slow and softened by the edge of anesthesia still lingering in him.

"I…." Viktor trailed off. He had been worried about Yuuri, the baby hadn't crossed his mind. They were in a hospital anyway, and Toshiya and Mari were still there…probably.

"I'm serious. You don't get a redo." His voice was scratchy, his fingers lightly trailing over the gauze and bandages wrapped around his lower torso.

"A redo? You mean…" Viktor couldn't see the length of the incision, but the surgery had taken long enough…

"Everything's gone. No more babies." Yuuri quipped.

"I'm sorry, that's not what I want-"

"Shhh. It's fine. It's…good." Yuuri's lips curled into a soft smile at the look of Viktor's face.

"One less step for bottom surgery." Yuuri murmured.

"That's a ridiculous way to look at this. You almost died!" Viktor bristled.

"I lost a lot of blood. I never died." Yuuri waved a loose hand.

"No one ever told me that." Viktor whined. Yuuri touched his cheek tenderly, rubbing his thumb against the delicate skin.

"I'm sorry. We should've found a hospital with an English speaking doctor."

"At 2 am? Not likely." Viktor huffed, his ego defeated. " I'm glad you're okay."

After a second check from the anesthesiologist, the hospital released Yuuri back to his room. Without even waiting for him to ask, Hiroko transferred the baby from her arms to Yuuri's.

"She looks just like you." Viktor cooed. A few hours after birth, and she looked more human.

"Don't be silly. She has your mouth. Your nose. And she's practically blonde." Yuuri stared lovingly down at Akari.

"She has your eyebrows…and your eyes. I hope she has your hairline." Viktor smoothed back the downy puff of dark brown hair.

"I'll love whatever forehead she gets." Yuuri leaned down and kissed the crown of her head.

"Did you tell anyone?" Yuuri's voice was low and soft. Between the transfer, Viktor had given time for his parents and sister to fuss over him. He hadn't pulled out his phone in hours.

"….No. I was too caught up."

"Phichit will be mad. Take a picture." Yuuri shifted his elbows as far as he could move them without pain.

Viktor turned, sitting uncomfortably on the side of the bed in order to get the perfect selfie angle. Mari stopped in the middle of her conversation with her mother, watching with a wry look of disapproval.

They had offered before, but Viktor rarely gave up the role of photographer.

He sent the picture, no words needed, to Chris and Phichit. Phichit answered within two minutes

Phichit: OMG

Phichit: OMG OMG OMG SHE'S PERFECT

Phichit: UNCLE P SAYS HELLO!

Chris answered within the next ten minutes.

Chris: Good morning. Welcome to the world, Akari Ekaterina. Well done. ;)


	15. Sodatsu pt 1

**育つ** **sodatsu** **verb**

1\. **to raise a child**

2\. **to be brought up; to grow (up)**

It was three days before the hospital released Yuuri, and Akari along with him. Which was good for the family—Yuutopia was shut down for a week. Mari helped create a temporary bedroom for Yuuri ( and by default, Viktor) downstairs in one of the banquet rooms.

The transfer from hospital room to home was more stress than a relief. Viktor looked like he should be admitted himself—he hadn't left the hospital since Yuuri had been admitted. He had taken to sleeping on chairs, then on a hard couch the pitying nurses had dragged into the room.

The day they went home the sky had cleared. While it was a delicious blue, the earth below it still lay under a heavy layer of humidity. Leaves dropped tears into already-soaked soil. The news carried stories of mudslides on the edges of the prefecture. But the Earth had already moved under Viktor's feet. He kept a hand on Yuuri every step from the room to the car. He buckled Akari into her carseat bassinet, but let Hiroko carry her down to the van.

"Be careful—" Viktor nearly bit off his tounge as Yuuri pushed himself to the center of the backseat of the van. The doctor had stressed that Yuuri lift no more than 4 kilograms worth of weight for another six weeks. The car seat put Akari over the limit.

"I'm not going to tear my stomach open." Yuuri said, leaning over the bassinet buckled next to him. Akari didn't do much than sleep, and occasionally open her eyes. It seemed like she stared blankly, but Yuuri decided to focus on how big and huge the world was to her. She wasn't focusing… she was merely taking everything in.

"Not if you're careful." Viktor climbed into the van last, buckling Yuuri in before settling himself. Yuuri slumped into him before they were even out of the parking lot. It smoothed one of the sharp edges of anxiety that sat to the left of Viktor's stomach. His Sleeping Beauty could sleep anywhere, and the familiar weight was comforting. Every second that Yuuri spent doing it made up for the hard first months in Hasetsu. It erased the discord Viktor lived with between the banquet night and the day Yuuri trusted him enough to stay close.

The three days in the hospital had been even harder than that.

Yuuri was dozing when they pulled up the gravel driveway of Yuutopia. He stirred with the jolt of the parking break, but wasn't truly awake while he stretched across Viktor.

" _Who's that?_ " He mumbled sleepily, not quite reaching their shared language. Viktor found it adorable, but not as cute as the time he mumbled in soft Russian.

Mari raised her hand and bowed her head in an uncomfortable _I'm sorry_ signal. But really, Viktor couldn't blame her. He knew the old man standing next to her—silver hair, washed with white, carefully combed over a high forehead. He looked old, his wrinkles and creases on his skin showing he was an unhappy man.

Good. Viktor wanted him to be unhappy.

"My father."

Viktor tried to keep the venom out of his tone, but he knew he failed when Yuuri's face fell.

"He has bad timing." Yuuri sat up, gingerly adjusting the seatbelt over his lap.

"I'll get us a hotel room." Viktor sat up, reaching for the keys, unbuckling and preparing to climb over the center console room.

"Viktor!" Yuuri snapped, at a loss for words. "No! Hotels aren't for babies! This is Hasetsu, you know there aren't any hotels here."

Viktor stopped. It was true. Love hotels weren't exactly for hiding from your past with your three-day-old daughter.

"How much does he know?" Yuuri evened out his voice after they sat in silence. Toshiya and Hiroko sat in the front seat, lost but concerned at their son's reactions.

" That I've told him? That we're married."

"Through you or the media?" Yuuri frowned.

"I sent him our best wedding pictures." Viktor smiled. He had them printed on the best paper, every happy shot. One for each year he had lived, disowned.

Yuuri bowed his head. "Then what's my excuse for being in the hospital?"

"Yuuri, don't be ridiculous, you just gave birth to our daughter!"

"I'm too tired to come out to your father, who you never talk about." Yuuri moved to unbuckle the baby.

"Definitely not. I started living with Lilia and Yakov after I came out. He doesn't deserve any piece of you."

"Viktor." Yuuri growled, leaning over as much as he could, considering the surgical incision across most of his core. "Akari didn't come out of a peach. She has your mouth and nose and _we're not pretending the past year didn't happen."_ Yuuri's tone turned incredibly dark.

Hiroko took the initiative and stepped out the car, doing the traditional guest-greeting. Mari spoke in rushed and nervous Saga-ben while her father took after the cue, leaving two men alone in the car.

Viktor slid the van door open, taking Yuuri's hands and guiding him to a secure footing on the driveway. He reached to take the carseat out of its cradle, but Yuuri wormed around him, scooping Akari out of it.

" _Vitya,"_ Mikhails voice was just as strong and rich as it had been 15 years before. " _I seem to have arrived too late."_

Yuuri looked helplessly up at Viktor. He was six months out of practice and a dictionary away from understanding the old man's Russian. He didn't speak as carefully as Viktor did, or anyone else Yuuri had crossed paths with. He suddenly felt sorry for his sister, in charge of the man for who-knows-how-many-hours.

 _"For once you are right. You're years too late."_ Viktor's own language lost any polish of politeness or respect. Yuuri shrunk, taken aback, before placing a hand on Viktor's arm.

" _Let's talk inside."_ Yuuri spoke in careful Russian, relieved when shock flitted over the old man's face.

Mikhail's shock continued when instead of fighting, Viktor nodded and moved toward the front door. He steadied Yuuri as he slipped off his shoes, arms curled protectively around Akari, who lay against her father's shoulder.

With the banquet room taken up by their bed and dressers, Viktor went for the family dining room. It looked exactly the same as it had when dinner had ended a lifetime ago. He sat down, pulling out a chair and easing Yuuri into it. Mikhail sat across from him, folding his hands on top of one of the fabric placemats. His hands were rough, dry and calloused, spotted with the beginning of liver spots.

They sat in silence.

 _"Thank you."_

The shock hit both of them. Viktor expected more of the same— _abomination, sinner, rebuker of God_ —but a thank you?

" _I visited Yakov. I was hoping to see you, but by that time you had already left St. Peterburg."_

Viktor folded his arms across his chest. There was already two empty tea cups on the table , probably from Mari's efforts at hospitality. Now the coffee pot was bubbling, and Yuuri could hear the clink of a spoon against a glass.

 _"Are you dying?"_ Viktor said shortly. Hiroko set a class of Calpis, Viktor's favorite yogurt drink, in front of him. Yuuri got the same, while a mug of black coffee sat on a coaster for the stranger before them.

" _Do I have to be dying to repent for my sins?"_ Mikhail sighed. Viktor didn't touch his drink.

 _"That's how it goes in the church."_ Viktor said shortly

 _"Yakov told me everything."_

" _Ah, how happy I am, with the love of my life? A total ten gold medals, a family.."_

 _"About your….family."_ Mikhails eyes fluttered to Yuuri, and the bundle in his arms.

 _"I'll have to talk to him about our boundaries."_ Viktor growled.

 _"So…."_ Yuuri met the eyes of his father-in-law, who had appeared like a ghost. " _Why did you come?"_

The man took a deep, wheezing breath. He looked worn, and older than he should have. His eyes were dark, the opposite of Viktor's in color and light. They lacked vitality, soaked in age and severity.

 _"I decided that not understanding is not an excuse in this world."_

Viktor laughed humorlessly.

 _"I wanted to try. I already lost my wife, and I didn't want to die having lost my son."_ Mikhail unfolded his hands, wrapping one around the mug Hiroko had given him.

" _What priest told you to do this?"_ Viktor bit out, before meeting Yuuri's eyes.

 _"Viktor,"_ Yuuri turned to his husband, grateful for their mostly-frustrating cross-lingual-cultural relationship, speaking into his native language. " _I don't like seeing you angry."_

 _"Then make him leave."_ Viktor could tell Hiroko was trying to eavesdrop.

" _Are you going to let Akari do this to you in thirty years?"_ Yuuri could tell the words stung by how Viktor's mask slipped.

 **"** _We need a day or two. Yuuri is still recovering, and I want time with my daughter."_ Viktor said evenly, forcing himself to stare directly at his father.

Mikhail nodded solemnly.

They both sat on the edge of the bed, staring in the cradle.

It had taken three hours for Akari to stop crying.

Viktor had fallen asleep with her on his chest, before being prodded awake by Yuuri, terrified that he'd roll over and suffocate her.

They had swaddled her.

Changed her diaper.

Held a bottle to her lips for an hour straight.

Viktor had sang a lullaby to Akari after Yuuri broke down.

She finally slept, in the early hours of the morning, without arms holding her.

Yuuri slid back into the bed first, lying down without changing out of street clothes. It felt strange to lay on his back, the weight and pressure gone, replaced by the pull of sutures and surgery.

Yuuri still remembered every detail from the chapter 'After Delivery' in Viktor's book. He had expected for a few things to Not Apply—sore breasts, breast feeding. The book had even warned about spotting, which Yuuri had yet to see after the surgery.

What the book hadn't addressed, was the strange feeling that came after delivery.

How it felt like part of himself was now four feet to the left of him, instead of nestled close.

Viktor curled around Yuuri, careful to avoid Yuuri's stomach. Another New Thing that made Yuuri feel hollow. Viktor had always been obsessed, baby or not. Logically, he knew it was just taking care, but the buzz in the back of his head sang a different song.

"Vitya?" Yuuri's voice came out sounding weaker than he hoped it would sound.

"Mmm?" Yuuri could feel Viktor's voice vibrate into his bones.

"Am I still…."

"The sexiest katsudon." Viktor interrupted before Yuuri could finish his thought.

"That's not what I was asking," Yuuri frowned. It kind of was, but the fact that Viktor replied so easily struck a nerve.

"What are you asking then?"

"I….I feel…different." Yuuri couldn't twist the words into a question. It was a statement. A confession.

"Me too." Viktor moved his arm to lay across Yuuri's chest. But the weight stifling Yuuri's chest dissipated with those few words.


	16. Sodatsu Pt 2

Mikhail still smoked, which probably explained why he looked thirty years older than Hiroko and Toshiya did. At least he was polite about it, sitting on the porch overlooking the garden, the door closed behind him. Viktor found him like this, and sat next to him before his legs decided to bring him back inside.  
It was still grey outside, but the torrential rain that Akari had arrived in hadn't returned. The figurative and literal atmosphere were both stifling.  
"I'm still angry." Viktor said instead of a morning greeting.  
"I wouldn't expect any less." Mikhail pressed the butt of the cigarette into the ceramic ashtray that perpetually sat on the porch.  
"I'm only doing this for my daughter."  
"You're a better man than I am." Mikhail sighed, turning to his son with a wry smile. Viktor stared back, at a loss for words.  
"Yuuri's a better man than either of us." He watched his father's reaction. He had a tinge of confusion, but he didn't say anything. Viktor had imagined bringing the subject up—imagining Yuuri going through the same lectures and lessons Viktor had, the target only a little left of center. He had nightmares of Yuuri leaving him, his father pushing Yuuri too far, calling him a woman one too many times.  
Instead, Mikhail nodded.  
"You know, I'm not straight. I'm even gayer than I was when I was 12." Viktor prodded again. He wasn't getting the reaction he had expected for so many years. "I've been going to Pride parades for more than a decade. I started a resource center in high school and university."  
"You're exactly like your mother." Mikhail smiled. "Fierce to the last atom."  
"Do you still think I'm going to hell?"  
"That decision is made by a higher power than I."  
Viktor shrugged. A better answer than he expected.  
"What do you want?" He was still exhausted, even with three days at home. Akari didn't sleep for more than 4 hours at a time, and it was easier to take his daughter in his arms than it was to push Yuuri from sleep at 6 am.  
"To know my son. My granddaughter."  
"And Yuuri?"  
"Hiroko is very deft with a dictionary."  
Viktor blinked. "You talked?"  
"For hours. The first night, she told me that I would treat Yuuri well, or I would find myself on a one way train to the airport.  
Better than he deserved.  
"Why should Akari know you?" He had only known Akari for a few days, but he was already fiercly protective of her. Maybe he was even before she was born.  
"Vitya, I want to try. I didn't understand, but I am trying now."  
"I didn't need you to understand." Viktor felt his spine straighten, injected with adrenaline and anger. "I needed you to try. I needed you to love me regardless."  
"I have always loved you, my son."  
"No, you haven't. Yakov loved me. Yuuri loves me." Viktor felt himself start to shake. "I've watched Yuuri be terrified. He was scared he'd disappoint me, that he was keeping me from being happy. But he tried. He went out there and fought harder than anyone I've ever known. He even was going to end his own career so I would be able to skate again. But he listened to me. I've never had a single day where I worried if he loves me or not. He has no idea what he's doing, but he tries. That's more than I can say for you."  
Viktor had been too wrapped up in his own words to notice the shoji screen door slide open. Yuuri was standing behind them, Akari wrapped in her sling and tied to his chest. His hand rested on his hip, and he looked expertly blank.  
"Vitya, I need you." Yuuri's Russian was terse, enough that Viktor leapt up to his feet. Yuuri stepped back, sliding the door shut behind them a little too fast.  
"What's wrong Yuuri?" Viktor felt his heart beat out of his chest as Yuuri gingerly undid the fabric of the sling.  
"Hold the baby."  
"Are you going to be sick?" Viktor's eyes immediately went to Yuuri's stomach.  
"Just hold the baby." Yuuri nearly jostled Akari out of her sleep, but like her father, when she was out…she was out. Viktor took her in his arms before a sly smirk appeared on his lips.  
"Do you feel better?"  
"Yuuri, I don't understand." He started bouncing Akari in his arms. "Did you just….trick me?"  
"Pinch her fat little cheeks."  
Viktor stared at his husband.  
"Do it." Yuuri said with the same tone as he had on the ice- pulling ties, and other times, pulling clothes off.  
Viktor pinched Akari's cheek. Her tiny brow furrowed, but she didn't cry. Viktor tried it again, massaging the soft skin.  
"I….feel better." Viktor murmured, moving Akari to lay against his chest. "How did you know?"  
Yuuri gave him a look, before the sass-Yuuri faded. "You were getting loud."  
Viktor could feel his cheeks flush red with embarrassment. Yuuri saw all sides of him, but he still careful cultivated what parts of him saw the light of day, and what stayed behind a mask.  
"It's been four days. It's impossible to get over years like that so quickly."  
"But Yuuri, you said I had to for Akari…"  
"Yeah, and you did!" Yuuri's voice rose along with his shoulders. "I meant get out of the car and talk to him, not figure out 15 years of your life in two days! Vitya, I'm proud of you already. You've done a lot. More than me, and I see my dad every day." Viktor could see the shine of tears beginning in Yuuri's eyes. Before the tears could run over his cheeks, Yuuri pushed forward, pressing himself to Viktor and a kiss to his lips, Akari between them.  
~~~

"I don't want to go." Viktor hedged again. It had been years since he had been forced away from Yuuri, and that was only because of competition. Now, it was Yuuri telling him to spend a day showing his father around Hasetsu and the bigger Japanese-style garden in Fukuoka. It was the first time he would be away from Yuuri, and now his daughter too.  
"I know. I don't want you to either."  
Viktor brightened, but Yuuri's expression remained firm. "But you need to do it, otherwise you won't have any happy memories with your dad."  
"I'm not going to make happy memories. I am already not happy." Viktor pouted. Akari moved her arms around as if she was slowly performing some sort of martial art, and was dressed in an outfit Yuuri wasn't allowed to know the price of.  
"Go do it, or you'll stay mad, and Akari is going to grow up with daddy issues all because of you." Yuuri held up Akari to punctuate his point.  
"Yuuri, you are so mean!" Viktor whined, but leaned down for a kiss, pulling on a day-bag and venturing out of their temporary bedroom to fetch his father.  
An hour later, Viktor's safe arrival text chimed on Yuuri's phone.  
Yuuri stared at Akari. He stuck out his tongue at her, before feeling foolish. This was a baby, not Mochi or Makkachin. She wouldn't leap up to kiss him or whine happily.  
A few seconds of berated himself, Akari stuck her tongue out.  
Two hours later, Viktor sent a picture of a flower that 'reminded me of you'. Yuuri sent a heart emoji back, because it was easier than asking how or trying to understand Viktor when he acted lovesick.  
Three hours later and an Instagram alert popped up—Viktor was having lunch, with a generous and early mug of beer in the corner of the photo.  
Akari was on her third bottle of the day. Yuuri could mix the formula and water in his sleep—he was pretty sure he had once, too.  
Viktor goes on radio silence the same time Akari decides to cry for an hour straight.  
A clean diaper. A full belly. He wrapped her in one of Viktor's sweaters, then one of his own.  
She still fussed, her face red and wrinkled.  
He bounced her.  
He put on the same music he had played for her when she was still in the womb.  
He set her down in her bassinet, going to squeeze the life out a pillow when the doorbell rang.  
Yuuri paused to grab his inkan in case he needed to stamp his signature on a delivery slip, opening the door with the gusto of someone on their way to their execution.  
"Hello darling! You look amazing!" Minako-sensei sang. Yuuri looked down at his sweatpants, and the shirt he was pretty sure was stained with something to do with the baby.  
"Minako-sensei…." Yuuri could only mangage her name, dumbfounded. She had a gift bag tied with a frilly pink bow, as well as a tightly wrapped and tied takeout bag. He stepped aside just as Minako invited herself inside, close enough to see Minako's grimace at the crying.  
"It's not really a good time—My mom's out and Viktor's in Fukuoka with—"  
"Don't be silly. I'm here for you and Akkachan." Minako waved a hand. Yuuri winced.  
"Her nickname is Katya…" He mumbled, before the pink bag was shoved into his hands.  
"She's been crying for an hour…" Yuuri started. He felt his eyes sting with the beginning of tears. It was one thing to face it—he had years of practice dissociating and months of parenting articles behind him. But once he said it, the tears flowed.  
Minako still smiled, though it had a tint of pity to it. "Let me see her."  
Yuuri shuffled back to his bedroom, glad that they had been too busy (healing or otherwise) to make much a mess of it. Akari seemed to sense their entry, her cry picking up into a higher pitch.  
Yuuri sank down into the rocking chair Viktor had ordered on Amazon two weeks ago, pressing a pillow to his stomach. He rubbed his cheeks dry as Minako scooped Akari from her bed.  
He watched as she lifted herself onto her toes, moving into position. His heartrate lifted as Minako twirled with Akari in her arms, lifting her higher into the air as she moved into fifth position. She gracefully moved into a plie, moving across the room with Akari. She matched the music that still played in the background, tinny from Viktor's laptop speakers.  
Yuuri did a double take. He could hear the music—Akari had stopped crying. She was even dozing as Minako set her back into her bassinette, tucking a blanket around her.  
"Why can't I do that?" Yuuri felt his voice warble and the tears threaten to spill over again. He thought he had tried everything, and Minako waltzed in, and the first thing she tried worked. Minako had said her ballet students were all the children she needed, and yet here she was, a better parent than Yuuri.  
"Do you hear yourself talk, boy? You can." Minako clucked, playfully putting her hands on her hips. "Don't tell me you've forgotten the YEARS of training I gave you."  
"Of course not…" Yuuri decided to stare at his feet. He remembered the bruises from hours of practice, and then from falls on the ice.  
"I just came in here and did what I thought you and Vicchan would do." Minako sat on the edge of their bed. "But I slept for nine hours straight, and have held at least ten more babies than you have."  
"But I was so good at it at Mommy and Me classes at the rink…" Yuuri sniffled.  
"You still are. But the babies aren't just visiting, and Akari knows you better than some Russian moms wanting to see some hot skater ass."  
Yuuri choked. Minako was still as embarrassingly brash as ever.  
"The thing about kids, is that they are terrifying. You never know what you're doing, and you feel like they're going to die if you don't constantly watch them."  
Yuuri nodded, hugging the pillow tightly. "It's not fun at all. Viktor fusses so much, I feel like I'm going crazy."  
"But it will be okay, and worth it. Because I know Akari is the luckiest girl in the world to have you and Viktor loving her."  
Minako left after sitting Yuuri down with the food she brought from the café across from her studio. She talked about her students, and the latest skating competitions. It was the first conversation Yuuri had in a week that didn't revolve around Akari or Viktor's father.  
When Viktor pulled into the driveway, Yuuri was exhausted but happy. Akari had napped, before waking for another feeding. Yuuri had danced his Olympic free skate with her—gingerly avoiding the jumps. Akari calmed, sleeping against his shoulder as the day wore on.  
"How was your day?" Yuuri asked as Viktor came in, immediately slumping against him. Yuuri wrapped his arms around Viktor, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck. Viktor only made a tragic sounding noise, nuzzling his face into Yuuri's shoulder.  
"Minako-sensei visited." Yuuri continued, reminded by the visit at the crinkle of Viktor's knee against the gift bag Yuuri had left on the bed.  
"This is from her?" Viktor murmured, shifting so he could pick it up, but was still touching Yuuri. He no longer asked about opening it—they had learned that culture shock years ago. He pulled at the tape holding it shut, before pulling out the blanket. Spreading it out, you could see how crooked and lopsided it was, but it was handstitched with care. Minako had crocheted a blanket of soft pinks and purple granny squares.  
"I love it." Viktor cooed, holding it up before carefully tiptoeing over to tuck it around Akari.  
"She helped me a lot." Yuuri mumbled, not really wanting to go into details.  
"You did too. You were right." Viktor sighed, crawling back onto the bed. "I realized the last happy memory I had my dad wasn't happy at all."  
Yuuri moved closer, leaning into Viktor this time. "How?"  
"My mother was dying, and my Dad tried to be there. We went to an amusement park. I loved the carousel. It was absolutely gorgeous, painted with gold and lit up… But that was the last time I saw my dad smile."  
"I don't think there's a carousel in Fukuoka…" Yuuri traced soft patterns on Viktor's legs.  
"There isn't. But once we got to Fukuoka, and I remembered the first time you brought me there. I felt… happy… and he relaxed too." Viktor's shoulders raised, his voice and face full of wonder. "We talked, and he… he said husband and daughter. And what is crazy… is that it felt normal. I wasn't angry. I didn't look at him and feel my stomach twist. I just saw an old man…"  
"That's called a breakthrough." Yuuri teased.  
"I'm exhausted, though. I'd be happy if I didn't need to talk to him for a week."  
"But after that?"  
"I'll think about it."


	17. Chapter 17- Original Ending

Notes:

This is the original ending that I included with the printed zine (that benefits )

It was kind of rushed, and while it has the spirit of how it was going to end... I wanted to write more. So I will write more, which will be published later on. If you would like to read more, the story will be published in chapters after this, but will not include this chapter in the canon. (As it's an ending... basically, if you want to read more childhood fluff, ignore this ending entirely)

I'm not a huge fan of dictating how things go and end, but I also think closure is nice... so take of this ending what you will! Thanks so much for reading and commenting. It means so much to me. 3

Chapter Text

"So it's Mila, Yurio, your father, Yakov, Lilia, Georgi… and Alina?" Yuuri went over the guest list again. He would have been fine giving Akari a cake and skyping his parents for her first birthday, but Viktor demanded a party. He had found a bakery in town that would copy the Japanese-style fruit and cream cake, down to the chocolate placard on top. Akari's outfit was planned, just short of a tiara, folded in tissue paper well out of reach.

"Your parents too." Viktor sang. Akari was sitting on the living room rug, babbling happy as Mochi licked her cheek. Makkachin watched matronly next to her, taking her job as toddler-support very seriously. Yuuri doubted his parents would last long—the time difference, and the fact that they were throwing a party for a child whose entire lexicon consisted of papa and pupup. Akari was adorable, but the party was more for Viktor than for their darling daughter.

"Okay, okay. Email sent." Yuuri sat up, setting the laptop down.

Makkachin immediately started whining.

"Oh Makka, oh Mochi-chi. I know." Yuuri cooed. "Come on, Katyushka, time for a walk." Yuuri scooped up his daughter. Viktor paused in his cooking enough to help Yuuri into the baby-backpack, setting Akari in it and buckling her in. H He pressed a kiss to her head, earning a squeal of delight, before kissing his husband square on the lips.

"Ittekimasu." Yuuri said as he clipped on the leashes and opened the door.

"Itterashai!" Viktor sang back, turning to watch until the door snapped shut.

The phone rang not long after.

Hello Viktor, we have good news.

Sorry, who is this?

Viktor checked his caller ID. It was saved, but he was surprised he still had the name in his address book.

There's a birth mother interested in meeting you. She's later in her pregnancy, and is eager to meet you as soon as possible.

Viktor hesitated. He hadn't heard from their case worker in nearly two years, and it had been longer than that since they had been chosen.

Well, this weekend—

Perfect

Viktor rattled off the date and time he knew by heart.

It wouldn't hurt to add another guest to the list, would it?

Yuuri's expression at the news was unreadable. Akari babbled happily, reaching her chubby arms toward her papa.

"You can't move it? It's not a good time… We're already busy, and there'll be too many people to make a good impression." Yuuri rambled.

"But what about the impression we'll make? They'll see how loved Akari is, and how much we `1do for our family." Viktor bounced on his feet. Dinner was set messily on the table, now forgotten. Part of the vegetables were burnt, cooked too long during the tense phone call.

Yuuri worried his bottom lip. He still hadn't taken his coat off. The poodles sat at their feet, wagging their tails expectantly.

"We just got Akari sleeping normally…"

"It's a boy." Viktor added eagerly. He wanted to kiss Yuuri, just because his lips were so red, and he looked so nervous. But Yuuri would see it as him trying to bribe him. They didn't have enough time to have a fight about it.

"The mother was raised by her uncles…"

Yuuri blinked slowly. Akari had grabbed hold of his finger, and was now pulling it toward her mouth.

"She wants…us?"

He said it so softly, so unsurely it made Viktor ache. He managed a nod and a bright smile.

"Okay. But we need to clean, and make sure we get under the couch…" Yuuri turned and looked around the apartment. "Maybe we should get new sheets for the crib…"

The morning of the party, Viktor ached. He felt the cleaning checklist in his bones, his knees and his back.

He ignored it, instead focusing on pouring a cup of warm water over Akari's head as he bathed her in the kitchen sink. Viktor had scrubbed behind the toilet, wiped every blade of the blinds clean and taught back-to-back lessons that week. Makkachin and Mochi had even gone to the groomers, returning with matching bows.

Not to say that Yuuri hadn't done his share. He had made the list, split it evenly in half. Yuuri had scrubbed and even repainted the baseboards. He had gone through the cabinets, scrubbing and getting rid of anything that looked like it was even thinking of expiring within the next six months. Akari's baby pictures from her first shrine visit were framed and put up (however many months late) next to the shot of the two on the podium together.

"Vitya, help." Yuuri pressed his face into his husbands back, worming an arm around him and handing him a hairbrush.

Viktor handed Akari the washcloth (which was embroidered to look like a duck) ignoring the welt squelch as his daughter threw it onto the counter.

"What, was this on the list?" He started to pull the loose hairs from it before Yuuri yanked it back. His hair was slicked back, similar to how he wore it during competition. It looked fine to Viktor, but that didn't mean anything to Yuuri's anxiety.

"No. Fix it. I don't want to look like I have a bad comb-over."

Viktor decided to bite back the perfect quip that sprung up in the back of his mind.

"Mind Akari, will you?"

Yuuri scooted between him and the counter as Viktor pulled the brush through his hair. He smelled like toothpaste and shampoo, dressed in a freshly-pressed Nina Donis shirt and black slacks. It had been four months since they'd moved back to Russia, but they both still roamed the apartment in socks, leaving their shoes by the door. (Which were now in a unrealistic orderly row).

Viktor set the brush down, pulling Yuuri back into his chest and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head.

"You look amazing." Viktor hummed. Akari shrieked in delight—her volume button seemed permanently turned to the highest setting. No one dared asked which side of the family she inherited it from.

"Like a mature and responsible dad?" Yuuri fretted. He was ten months back on hormones, and relished it more than he had when he started his first dose. His jaw was squarer, but still soft, his shoulders felt broader… Yuuri felt right.

And terrified.

This was the first time that he felt like he had to go into Akari's origin story. The only media Akari appeared on was Viktor's Instagram. They deflected interviews, and Viktor always swayed comments on Akari's looks to stories about Makkachin singing a lullabye or how she's destined to land a Quad Lutz before her senior Debut. Yuuri always remained nervously quiet—in Japan, it was the half comments, cooed as a compliment but leaving a sour taste instead. In Russia, they always looked from Akari, to Viktor and then to Yuuri, always looking a little proud about fitting the puzzle pieces together.

He didn't feel like he owed strangers an explanation.

But a birth mother? She could be swayed by the success of a prior adoption, the fact that her child would have a sibling… many things. But they hadn't had a successful adoption. If you asked Viktor, Akari's birth hadn't been that successful either.

What scared Yuuri the most, was that he knew intimately how scared the mother was, what she was feeling in her body and her mind all at the same time. He knew it so well he was sick, not with just nerves, but with wondering how we could deal with it without ruining their chances.

The hours went by way too fast. Akari was dressed in her birthday outfit, a pink linen dress with a crisp white collar. Her fine brown hair dried quickly, and was now long enough to be brushed aside and clipped up with a sparkly pink butterfly clip. Her white tights collected no stray dog fur, even as Mochi followed behind her as she crawled and scooted across the floor.

Yuri arrived first, escorted by Mila, and holding the cake box as if it held a sacred treasure. Mila carried two large and very pink gift bags, bypassing Yuuri at the door and going straight for Akari. She plopped on the floor, already busily chatting in Russian to her Katya. Although she did nothing but smile and babble back, it helped. Akari already responded correctly to a few words in Japanese, Russian and English. She ignored 'bedtime' no matter the language.

"You're a life saver." Yuuri took the box, setting it on the kitchen counter as the blond rolled his eyes. He may have grown into a young adult, but he still hadn't dropped the teenage angst.

Yakov and Lilia arrived soon after. Akari spent the next half hour in the arms of one friend or the other, charming them with smiles and chubby hands patting their cheeks (or bald heads).

Viktor answered the door. He had told the agency the right time, but they had thankfully waited, arriving to a full house.

Viktor immediately turned on his 800-watt smile, shaking the hand of the adoption agency worker he knew too well.

"Welcome. Please come in. I'm Viktor. My husband just went to change Akari."

Viktor's hand shook as he took their jackets, hanging them up by the door. But he didn't look as scared as the mother. She looked and walked like she was carrying a bowling ball, her arms folded over her stomach to no avail. Her hair color matched Akari's, and hung to her mid-back and partially hid her face. Her eyes we wide, even behind a forced smile.

"I'm Nikita." She took Viktor's hand gently. She looked no older than the Junior league students Viktor taught… putting her around 15 years old.

Viktor wrapped his hands around hers, resisting the urge to hug her. He felt a fierce need to protect her, and instead decided to escort her to the couch. He loaded a paper plate with cheese, crackers slathered with jam and the other appetizers Viktor had cooked and friends had brought with them.

Yuuri came back into the room, cradling his cellphone to one ear, Akari on his other arm and determined to pull her papa's hair out of its gelled style. He looked stressed, barking out short instructions in his native language. Viktor could only catch a few choice words, such as cost and Wifi before he went back into how to use Skype. Akari squealed in delight, leaning out of Yuuri's arms when he was within five steps of Viktor.

Yuuri froze as Viktor caught her, swinging her up and blowing a raspberry onto her stomach. He dropped the phone to his side, a deer in the headlights.

"Hello, Yuuri. This is Nikita. What a wonderful party you have going on." The agent smoothed it over in prim and professional Russian. Yuuri took a few seconds to reboot, exchanging greetings in Russian. The girl looked impressed, but still shrunk into a corner of the couch.

"Do you need anything? A drink? Food?" Yuuri stuttered.

"Taken care of, Love." Viktor leaned over, wrapping his free arm around Yuuri and kissing the side of his face.

"Oh. Wait. You gave her everything? What if she gets sick?"

Viktor's showman smile faltered. "No one's going to get sick from our cooking, Darling."

"No, I mean… The smell. Remember what happened with Garlic? Nausea can last until nine months." Yuuri said firmly.

Viktor still couldn't look at garlic the same way.

"What happened with garlic?" Nikita's voice was shy and quiet, but curious.

"God, I couldn't stand it. Akari hated the smell, and I threw up before I even saw it. I didn't even make it to the bathroom, and I couldn't go back into the kitchen until the smell faded three days later.

"Akari….?" The girl tilted her head to the side the same time Akari cooed sweetly.

"Our daughter." Viktor interjected. It was Yuuri's job to go into any more details.

"I… I was born female, so after a couple years with the agency… Viktor and I decided to have Akari." Yuuri wrung his hands in front of his stomach.

"Oh." Nikita, however soft she looked, was hard to read. "So you understand."

Yuuri felt his eyes fill up with tears, the nerves getting the best of him. "Oh, yeah. It was the scariest part of my life. I had no idea what I was doing, and then your body starts moving, but it's not you… and it feels like your body isn't yours, and then when it's over, it's like a piece of you is walking… ah, crawling around outside of you. "

Viktor squeezed Yuuri's side, half in support- half in warning. This didn't sound like it would win him over.

"It was the hardest thing I've ever done… but it was worth it. " Yuuri rambled on even as his voice grew thick and heavy with emotion. "I felt like hell, but I take one look at Akari, and I'd do it a thousand times over. I see you, and I know what you're going through… I just… I admire you so much." Yuuri rubbed his eyes on the sleeve of his shirt. Viktor squeezed him again, unsure what to do.

He decided to steady them, as Nikita stood up, colliding with them in a tight hug.

Viktor and Yuuri proudly announce their arrival of their son

Nikolai Minoru Viktorovich Katsuki-Nikiforov

September 7th, 20XX 12:10 PM

4.2kg 46 cm

Welcomed by big sister Akari Ekaterina


End file.
